


Probletunity

by haute_coldture



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014), The Flash - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Barry Allen & Iris West Friendship, ColdFlash Big Bang, ColdFlash Big Bang 2020, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Minor Cisco Ramon/Lisa Snart, Minor Eddie Thawne/Iris West, Undercover Missions, Unresolved Sexual Tension (that becomes resolved sexual tension)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:28:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 53,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27773032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haute_coldture/pseuds/haute_coldture
Summary: When Team Flash finds out a dangerous device prototype has made its way into a black market auction, they enlist the aid of an expert to help ensure it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.(Barry & Len team up to do some infiltration, pull off a heist, and end up stealing more than either expected)
Relationships: Barry Allen/Leonard Snart
Comments: 153
Kudos: 244
Collections: Coldflash Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to T, because your words have inspired so many more of mine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I don't know if I'll have enough time for anything but I have to try! *signs up for mini-bang!*
> 
> Also Me: *ends up writing many thousands more words and multiple chapters oops*
> 
> It's been a hot minute since I felt so inspired to do anything like this. In lieu of a lot of in-the-weeds stage-setting and canon compliance, have a handwave and a lampshade and hopefully you'll enjoy my attempt to spin a scenario for these two that takes UST and resolves it with a garnish of feels along the way.
> 
> Unbeta'd, all mistakes my own (and I suspect I'll keep finding things I need to edit for weeks after I post everything).

Barry Allen has a problem.

Okay, several problems.

But right now, there’s a big problem that a potentially-bigger problem was on the way to help solve, which in and of itself was a whole new flavor of problem.

Or, to borrow one of Cisco’s turns of phrase, maybe a probletunity?

… let’s back up a little bit.

Ultimately, this is all Leonard Snart’s fault.

#### ⚡️

Let’s start with the big problem first: stolen tech that could not only detect but also dampen metahumans had somehow found its way out of Mercury Labs and into a black-market auction. CCPD wasn’t making any headway in tracking it down, and Team Flash was a little out of their comfort zone when it came to infiltrating the criminal underground, nevermind doing so sans-powers. They needed help.

That’s where the bigger problem comes in, but that needs a little more explanation. Weighing all their options, Team Flash had decided to ask Leonard Snart for his assistance.

Thing is, until very recently, Leonard Snart had been dead for over a year.

To say Barry couldn’t stop thinking about what the Legends had told him with what had happened at the Vanishing Point was a bit like saying that Oliver Queen was a passable marksman. All of them had glossed over the events that culminated in Leonard Snart sacrificing himself to save the free will of the universe.

 _Captain Cold_ had frozen the moment, stolen the opportunity, and ensured the Legends won.

And he’d died for it.

The news hit Barry like a lead weight suddenly dragging him under fathomless cold depths, and he couldn’t fully articulate _why_ beyond a nebulous sense of responsibility and loss. Even after the Legends left to go gallivant through time on their next mission, Barry’s day always ended up meandering back to linger on it, like a song he couldn’t get out of his head or a phantom whisper of sensation.

Barry was determined to find a way to save him.

When his dwelling turned to theorizing, the rest of Team Flash started to get worried, but joined in.

When they landed on something that almost seemed like a plan, they got the Legends involved. Through it all, Barry heard the thief’s voice reminding him to _make the plan, execute the plan, expect the plan to go off the rails_ , then _throw away the plan_ ... only, miraculously, the plan they made and executed _worked._

Barry wasn’t going to forget the look on Leonard’s face in that frozen moment they’d stolen him from, or how the Vanishing Point felt _wrong_ through the insulation of his speed. How the Oculus explosion rattled through him like a deep discordant bass and made him feel like he needed to vibrate through it until the sensation was gone.

Stealing the thief back from the brink of death while still ensuring the Time Masters got their cosmic _fuck you_ had taken some doing, but they _had_ done it. Once they were all safely back aboard the Waverider, Barry took the excuse to join the other Legends in a group hug around a very baffled and clearly uncomfortably-confused thief.

The assembled Legends and Team Flash had happily celebrated their success afterwards, and though Barry initially didn’t have a solid reason for it, he kept gravitating toward the thief until it was just the two of them after everyone else had retired for the evening. Drinking well into the night with the sound of Leonard’s warm laughter filling the Waverider’s galley and well-worn cards flicking into the space between them, Barry realized he was maybe a little—okay, a _lot_ —attracted to Leonard Snart.

It had been a few months since then, and Leonard had spent some time reacclimating to the things he’d missed in the months it had taken for them to figure out how to tweak that moment at the Vanishing Point. He’d split that time between laying low in Central City, doing some travel with his sister, and a few missions with the Legends along with some other heroes (Flash included, of course). The conversations Barry had with Leonard were both heartening and dangerous. Though they hadn’t talked as much as the speedster kept finding himself wanting to, Barry came away feeling all the more certain of his initial gut assessment of the thief: that Leonard Snart was a good man.

Yes, he’d done awful things, his past was littered with more trauma and cruelty than any one person should have had to endure (him and his sister both). It wasn’t an excuse, but it was more than ample explanation. Despite all that, though, Barry still saw that there was a strength of character he couldn’t help but admire and want to encourage; when he’d heard about Leonard joining the Legends, Barry couldn’t help but wonder if maybe the man was finally seeing that in himself, too. Every subsequent interaction with the thief after his rescue had continued to demonstrate that he was showing more and more of that side of himself, and Barry was having an increasingly difficult time when he kept finding _more_ to like about the guy.

So, yeah; having a dangerously-growing crush on an ex-nemesis-turned-antihero was kinda a problem. 

This is where the problem helping with the problem comes in; it just made sense to ask for an assist with the stolen tech from the thieving mastermind who used to have the run of Central City’s criminal underworld. It also didn’t hurt that it meant encouraging Snart’s meandering slide from the villainous end of the spectrum further into anti-hero territory, even though Cisco had some choice grievances (“douchecicle” was particularly inspired; fortunately, the fact that Cisco had been warming back up to something relationship-shaped with Lisa eventually got him to agree).

And that brings us to now: Barry had a big problem (stolen tech) that a potentially-bigger problem (Leonard Snart) was on the way to help solve, which in and of itself was a whole new flavor of problem because Barry was pretty certain his crush was only going to end up escalating.

#### ⚡️

The Flash reached the outskirts of Central City just in time to watch the Waverider settle onto its struts, the ripple of its active camouflage cloaking it moments later. Though he doesn’t see it, he hears the sound of the ship’s cargo bay ramp lowering, and a few moments later the familiar swagger of Leonard Snart appears, seemingly out of thin air.

“My, my. Rolling out the red carpet for little old me?” Snart’s drawled amusement was as theatrical as ever, even though the cut of his silhouette was more subdued in lithe dark-waxed denim instead of the bulk of a fur-hooded parka.

“The ‘Red’ part, at least,” Barry grinned amicably with a little shrug and gesture at the latest version of his Flash suit, taking a few steps to close the distance between them to offer the thief a handshake.

Though he eyed the gesture pointedly, Leonard Snart slid his gloved hand into Barry’s for a quick, firm clasp.

“Thanks again for agreeing to help with this,” Barry said earnestly, but as he attempted to withdraw from the handshake, the other man’s grip tightened. 

Snart held up his unoccupied hand, one finger aloft to forestall the speedster. “One question: should I be making retirement plans for an imminent demise next week?”

The thief watched Barry with sharp attention, and he could feel the Flash go tense and still. 

“No,” Barry said, the cowl doing little to hide how his expression contorted in concern. “Nothing like that.”

After a long calculated moment, Leonard seemed satisfied with the response and released the Flash’s hand with a casual flourish. 

“Just checking,” Leonard said as he breezed past Barry, walking in the direction of where the city skyline concentrated industrial angles against the late afternoon sky.

Barry consciously had to push past the residual shame and complicated mess of other feelings tied to Snart’s well-placed jab about Siberia and their mission to steal from ARGUS. It had come up briefly a few times since they’d rescued Snart, but it still seemed to be a sensitive subject for both of them.

“I know what I did with the ARGUS thing wasn’t the best call, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t—”

“I was _teasing_. It’s all in the past,” Leonard interrupted, waving off Barry’s apology (again). The thief kept walking, dropping a momentary glance over his shoulder, “Really, Flash. I’ve gotten my licks in and you’ve apologized enough, don’t go worrying your pretty little head over it any more than you already have.”

Barry nodded, though his gaze cast downward as he kept pace with the other man. It’d be a lie to say he wouldn’t keep worrying about it. Worrying may as well be one of his superpowers.

When Leonard continued speaking, there was a rare earnestness warming his words, no longer a drawl but a soft conversational undertone.“After all,” the thief murmured, “you still saved my day eventually, didn’t you?”

The sentiment surprised Barry, and he caught the hint of something that was almost a kind curl to Leonard’s smile before his expression in profile resumed his usual guarded aloofness. It was closer to forgiveness than Barry had really dared hope for. 

“How is Iris, by the way?” Leonard asked, smoothly shifting the topic of discussion in a related tangent; the whole ARGUS situation had been to help save her, after all.

“She’s doing great,” Barry answered honestly, latching onto the segue with relief, “Been keeping busy with all the wedding prep. Eddie’s helping wherever he can, but he’s mostly letting her have the run of things.”

Snart’s gaze slid back toward the speedster. “Ah, her detective beau? Can’t say I’d be sad if he spent more time coordinating nuptials than collaring crooks.”

Barry snorted, “You would say that. Unfortunately for all the crooks, Eddie’s great at multitasking. He and Iris are so on top of everything it’s a little freaky, honestly.”

The thief hummed, “Miss West does appear to have a knack for overachieving. Seems to run in the family.”

Rolling his eyes, Barry reflexively took a step closer to nudge his shoulder against Leonard’s, huffing a low laugh. “Yeah, okay, flattery means you probably want something. What is it, Snart?”

A brow arched in response, humor lifting the corner of the thief’s mouth. “Can’t take a compliment, Flash?”

Barry wasn’t even sure how to _begin_ responding to that. After watching him flounder for a moment, Leonard took pity on the speedster. “There is something I’ll need, but I’m sure it’s all well within the reasonable parameters of what your S.T.A.R. Labs have on offer.”

Though there was still an edge of suspicion, Barry found himself nodding and agreeing, “Okay, we can talk it over once we get there.”

“That’ll do. Oh, and by the way,” Leonard added casually, “Call me Len. After everything, at this point I’d say we’re on a first-name basis, wouldn’t you?”

It was possibly thanks to his ability to process information rapidly that Barry didn’t stumble over that (figuratively or literally); instead, he turned to face more fully toward the thief walking beside him and managed a supremely-smooth, “What?”

“Len. Or Leonard, but I find the monosyllabic format just flows easier.”

Barry nodded, still blinking through the entirely-unexpected gesture that he wasn’t sure how to categorize. Trust? Friendliness? Something else? Whatever the thief’s intent, the permission felt almost illicit. Trying to make sense of it sent Barry's thoughts racing off in several directions.

_It’s his NAME, there’s no reason for me to be making a big deal out of this._

_…. Unless it is a big deal. Is it a big deal?_

_Is it weird that I want it to be a big deal?_

“Yeah, no, of course. Uh. Len,” Barry tried it and found that it felt oddly borderline-intimate to say aloud. And also really wasn’t helping dampen the mess of a crush problem he had on the guy.

The thief beside him chuckled, “Don’t sprain anything there, Scarlet. Now, are you going to offer me a lift or are we taking the scenic route all the way to your secret hideout? We’ve got work to do.”

Barry finally recovered a little more composure, grinning as he lengthened his stride to slightly outpace the thief. “You’ve already got a plan, don’t you?”

Leonard— _Len_ paused and half-turned toward the speedster. A sardonic eyeroll and offended snort were the thief’s immediate answer as he derisively intoned, “ _Please_.” Then his smirk deepened into something that was edging into a genuine smile. “I have several.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm also on tumblr [hautecoldture.tumblr.com](https://hautecoldture.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Chapters posted daily until complete! :D
> 
> Boundless thanks to the [ColdFlashEvents](https://coldflashevents.tumblr.com/) mod team for herding all the necessary cats, and this delightful fandom.
> 
> Comments always welcome ♥ Thank you for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

It was late into the night but Len was engrossed in his planning, spoiled by the resources at his disposal. When he’d agreed to help Team Flash with their latest problem, he had stipulated the need for full access to their tech to do it. After plenty of grousing, Cisco had agreed on the condition that he was supervised.

Barry’s idea of supervision had dissolved into lazy spins in one of the Labs’ rolling chairs as he played on his phone.

Len could tell when Barry was watching him; it was a sense he’d had to hone in his youth but had many fringe benefits, especially when the speedster tried to sneak up on him for the fifth time that evening to peek at what Len was working on.

“You could just ask,” Len drawled, not looking away from the tablet he was using to sketch schematic annotations.

Barry huffed a laugh from a pace behind him, “That’s not as much fun.”

Len tilted his head enough to glance over his shoulder at Barry. “Why, Scarlet, don’t tell me you finally want a taste of _my_ kind of thrill?”

“Well, I mean, I should probably get some practice with the sneaking and the stealing before we pull our mission, right?” Barry’s brows tugged together with determination.

Barry’s cheeks reddened as he tried to maintain his composure. It was adorable. Len had noticed that their interactions had changed since the heroes had all banded together to save him, and there was no single good explanation for it. Sometime after the Flash and friends had snatched him back from the Oculus at the Vanishing Point, the Scarlet Speedster seemed to have become keenly responsive to an angle of more flirtatiousness in the teasing banter they traded. Moreover, seemed to be toeing the line of _initiating_ it, and wasn’t _that_ interesting.

Nevermind how easy it was to turn him as red as his suit. But then, Len was trying to behave himself in this latest foray into morally-dubious territory. He’d justified it with a sense of challenge and satisfaction the likes of which he’d only ever gotten from the cleanest jobs, though he still groused that the pay could stand some considerable improvement. Being honest with himself, there was more to it than that, but he preferred to keep those thoughts between him and the ceiling at night.

“Practice...?” Len hummed in consideration, sliding the stylus into its slot in the tablet case and flipping the cover shut as he turned around to lean against the table and face the other man.

“How about this: steal something from this table in the next hour,” Len flattened his palms against the surface as he leaned his weight back against it, hopping up to sit atop it. 

Barry grinned, “Easy.”

“ _Without_ using your speed, and without me knowing what you took,” the thief continued.

The conditions visibly wrinkled the speedster’s face into a little frown, but he just crossed his arms, nodding. “Fine. Still doable.”

Len’s gaze sharpened to focus entirely on Barry. “We’ll see.”

Barry’s expression curled into something closer to a smirk, then; a touch of familiar smugness tucked into the curve of his lips. He didn’t break eye contact with the other man as he took the few deliberate steps forward to put himself arm’s length from the table... and from Len, perched on its edge.

Len watched him, eyes narrowing as Barry’s chest rose with a deep breath before he took one more step that left him standing between Len’s thighs.

A deadly stillness reflexively settled into Len’s frame at the breach of his personal space, and he made a conscious effort to relax. This close, the fluorescent lights pulled out deep hazel and green in Barry’s eyes, and Len watched for the telltale spark of something _more_ that always dragged goosebumps in its wake when Barry used his powers. None came, though a pleasant chill still slid through Len.

The tension of this dance between them thrummed through Len’s pulse; he’d realized the moment Barry seemed to pick up the steps too, and had delighted in every blush he’d managed to elicit in those righteous cheeks all afternoon. He hadn’t intended for his teasing to turn as flirtatious as it had, but then again, his intentions never seemed to pan out as expected where Barry Allen was involved. He’d been having his fun, but Len recognized a boundary for himself in doing anything more; it might be fun to play, but there were some things he refused to steal.

No matter how much he wanted to.

Perhaps it was cowardice, or greed, or sentimentality, or some combination of all three and more that Len hadn’t wanted to unpack yet; what it meant for him in this moment was that he once again allowed Barry to set the rules of engagement.

Barry leaned forward, his hands sliding onto the tabletop on either side of Len.

The thief’s situational awareness was fully cognizant of what Barry was trying to do. He knew where every item was on the table behind him, and suspected Barry was reaching for one of the flash drives (cute). He could also feel the tickle of Barry’s breath against his skin, and didn’t miss the way his eyes flicked down to Len’s mouth for a moment.

Thousands of things burned through him to say, to do, to wrest control of this situation into territory that was firmly predictable and according to plan, but.

Even if he did, Len knew Barry Allen would find a way to send him careening into more unknowns; getting Len wrong-footed seemed to come as naturally as breathing to him.

To Len, it was a thrill he wouldn’t trade for anything.

So he remained still, holding Barry’s gaze with a carefully neutral expression.

Barry’s toe clipped the leg of the table, and the controlled almost-grace evaporated in a clumsy sprawl as he tripped onto Len.

The speedster yelped against the other man’s shoulder, Len having caught most of Barry’s weight without being sent toppling onto the table himself. 

“ _Ohmygod_ ,” Barry’s flustered words were all apology. “Sorry, shit,” he continued sputtering as he righted himself, and once he was standing again, he’d moved several paces away from Len and the table.

Len adjusted his posture, but didn’t have to glance over his shoulder to check the state of the table behind him. “You okay there, Scarlet?” He asked with a grin threatening to pull his smirk apart, amusement alight in his eyes and his tone.

“Yeah, no, just gonna go die of mortification in one of the supply closets,” Barry took refuge behind the press of his fingers into his brow for a moment, then dragged them up through his hair.

Len chuckled warmly, “Well, it’s been a while since I was in the closet, but if you insist… “ He arched a brow at Barry’s open parade of confusion and a few other interesting emotions as the speedster seemed to pick up on what his words implied. Len took pity on him after a beat, “I’m supposed to remain under adult supervision at all times, remember? You end up in a closet, I’ll be in there with you...” and the insinuation in his tone did more than enough to finish that thought without words.

Barry laughed it off (weakly) as he rolled his eyes but grinned, turning a half-step away as he continued to fidget. “We should probably get an adult, then, or at least someone who doesn’t trip over his own feet.” He paused, green gaze briefly flickering over Len, then away again. “I’m, uh. Not in the closet either, for the record.”

The speedster’s almost-bashful admission nearly threatened to distract and derail his attention altogether, and Len reminded himself to focus.

Len finally glanced over his shoulder to confirm what he suspected. When he turned back to look at Barry, he noticed the other man watching him with a guarded expression. “Barry Allen, you really do need my help.”

Barry blinked, “What?”

Len slid to his feet, fingertips trailing after him along the edge of the table as he took his time to walk a lazy path toward the speedster. 

“One of the most important things you have to learn if you want to get good at stealing,” Len instructed, drawl at half-muster, “is how to take advantage of a golden opportunity.” 

Len’s footsteps had woven in a slight semicircle around the room, but he stopped just a hair closer than most might consider polite.

Fortunately for him, Barry Allen wasn’t _most_.

Barry swallowed, clearly deciding to keep his feet planted instead of moving away. “Yeah? How do you mean?”

Tilting his head, Len moved with telegraphed ease as he raised one hand to the collar of Barry’s open button-down shirt. He took a half-step closer, fingers sliding under the edge of the rumpled shirt, his other hand mirroring the gesture on the other side as he tugged and adjusted the garment. Barry’s breath stuttered in soft gusts against Len’s skin, his eyes tracking the movement of Len’s hands. 

“Now, don’t get me wrong, you started off strong,” Len continued casually, though his tone dropped to a more private volume. “I wouldn’t mind you using that distraction tactic on me more often.” 

Len didn’t bother hiding the truth in that statement as his fingers smoothed down the collar, then traced a path over Barry’s shoulders and down to hastily-rolled sleeves. Len used both hands to tug one side free, slowly pulling the fabric down Barry’s forearm before flipping the open cuff up and rolling them properly.

Len watched as goosebumps brought the hairs of Barry’s forearm to attention.

“But the _problem_ , Barry, is that you had the perfect escalation and diversion,” Len hooked one finger under the opposite rumpled rolled sleeve, giving it a tug. “And you wasted it.”

Barry shivered, a subtle frisson of vibration blurring through his frame that Len caught as it sparked in Barry’s eyes; a shot of heat raced through Len at the sight and sensation. 

Len let the silence thicken between them as he took his time folding the fabric of Barry’s sleeve up, keeping his gaze averted to pay attention to all the things Barry telegraphed with his body language.

“How did I waste it, exactly?” Barry asked a little haltingly, clearly making an effort to pretend he wasn’t nearly as affected by all this as he was.

Len’s eyes snapped up to Barry’s and the speedster’s breathing paused for a moment. A coy smirk curled Len’s lips. “Like I said, you really do need my help, so how about a practical demonstration?”

The speedster doesn’t seem to find his words fast enough so he began his answer with a jerky nod before he remembered how to say, “Okay?” And it doesn’t quite come out like a question so much as asking permission.

The fingers at Barry’s crisply re-rolled cuff give one last tug, then Len’s hands trace up from Barry’s wrists to settle in a loose curl over his shoulders. “Good,” Len just stops himself from adding _boy;_ save that for later.

“Step one, evaluate your target. Where’s their attention? Where should their attention be in order to get what you want?” Len instructs Barry as he flicks his gaze down the other man’s slender torso. 

“Sometimes you want them to be paying attention to anything else, other times—” Len’s left thumb moved in a deliberate stroke over where Barry’s shirt collar met the skin of his neck and elicited a hitched breath and another shiver. “— you want their attention focused entirely on you.” 

Len waited a beat, then continued, “Step two, reposition them.”

Len began pushing to guide Barry by the shoulders, which the speedster obligingly followed. Barry only glanced over his shoulder once as Len backed him toward the table where Len’s plans and everything else were still laid out, but this time, Barry was the one pressed back against it.

“Step three, entice with trust.” Len tilted his head, hands relinquishing their hold from Barry’s shoulders. “Do you trust me, Barry?” Len asked, the full weight of his attention all but pinning the speedster to the table with his gaze alone.

Barry looked like he was poised with enough tension to run to the moon and back in the time it took for him to drag in another breath. “I—yeah. I trust you,” his words come out a little softer, more earnestly than Len is expecting, and it’s a testament to his sense of showmanship that he doesn’t let on precisely how acutely it hits him.

What it twists through Len to know that Barry Allen _means_ it when he says _“I trust you.”_

Barry looks to be about to say something else, but his jaw instead visibly works to remain shut. Len could almost commend him for cutting off whatever his following words were; the speedster was getting better about thinking before he spoke.

“Close your eyes,” Len instructed, his voice falling to a tone that was low—enough that it seemed meant for only Barry to hear.

Barry’s eyes did the opposite, widening instead, and the thief raised a brow when he could tell the speedster seemed about to give voice to another protest. 

“Ah-ah; trust me,” Len reminded him and he could almost hear the gears churning in Barry’s head as he considered his options. He almost expected to see the telltale flicker of lightning in his eyes, but instead only watched as long lashes shuttered hazel.

“Okay,” Barry said softly, and Len couldn’t help the shiver of illicit _want_ that answered in him.

For a long moment, then, Len waited; not for the first time, just looking at the speedster - he wouldn’t call it admiring; truth be told, that term is far too tame for how he looks at this man with lightning dancing under his skin, and he reigns in the want to steal more than he’d ever allow himself to live with.

Right now, Len wonders what Barry expects him to do.

Because if he were to place bets, he’d almost think the pretty speedster _wants_ him to lean in just that scant distance closer and share a breath between them; he’s noticed Barry noticing him several times before now, but never so much as he has tonight.

_Would it really be stealing if you’re so willing to let me take it? If you’re offering it to me?_

Len physically twitches, a recoil away from that thought; fun as it would be, that’s not the game they’re playing. The stakes of that one are far too high.

So, instead, Len presses a hand to the center of Barry’s chest, fingers flexing slightly against the soft body-heated cotton, then traveling a lazy path up to follow the contour of his neck, thumb briefly detouring to trace over the jut of his jawbone, until his hand settles at the speedster’s nape. 

It’s an easy almost-reflexive thing to pluck Barry’s phone out of his front pocket, sliding the thin device free just long enough to find its way into Len’s jacket.

Prize secured, Len murmurs close enough that he’s sure Barry can feel the gust of his breath against his skin. “Step four, misdirection.”

And then he takes three steps back, putting more than an arm’s length between himself and the speedster, watching with prim satisfaction as Barry takes _one-two-three-four-five_ long seconds to finally unfreeze and blink his eyes open, looking around to refocus on Len. The flush in his cheeks is almost as endearing as the clear confusion on his features.

“Uh.. how many steps are there to this process?” Barry finally asks on an awkward laugh, clearly unmoored.

It’s unfair he looks as appealing as he does, even like this.

“Oh, as many as I need there to be. I suppose step five and six would be something like ‘secure the asset’ and ‘get away clean,’ but,” Len flicks his fingers in a dismissive gesture. “The deed’s done.”

Len curled his fingers under his chin, propping his elbow on the arm he had folded across his torso as he just waited for Barry to catch up. Funny thing, how the fastest man alive was still sometimes so very slow.

The furrow in Barry’s brows returned to announce his confusion redoubling, and his scrutiny of the thief then became a search of his own person, hands going to his pockets to discover the missing device.

“There, see? Now, let’s try this again. Think you can get it back?” Len’s drawl was a smug tease, but it wasn’t cruel. 

It was interesting to watch the open dance of Barry’s thoughts as his expression flickered from processing to considering to resolve. Len felt his pulse quicken as he watched Barry’s chest rise, shoulders squaring as if he had to brace himself for whatever he’d decided to do, and the speedster advanced on Len with a determined focus the likes of which Len wasn’t used to seeing outside of his crimson cowl.

Len didn’t move, didn’t flinch, as Barry broached his personal space, and it was a concentrated thing to keep his own breathing steady. He wasn’t prone to looking people in the eye—it revealed too much—but he couldn’t look away from Barry.

“What now, Barry?” Len asked, the question hushed in the scant space between them; it was as much goading as it was invitation. This next move wasn’t his to make.

The half-moon of dark lashes dropped against Barry’s cheek as his gaze fell to Len’s mouth, and the thrumming pace of his own pulse sounded overloud in his ears. Anticipation hung thick and thrilling on the way Barry began to lean toward him.

A chorus of alarms and beeps interrupted whatever Barry’s response would have been, and the speedster is leaning over a nearby console moments later, leaving Len blinking back to his senses in a gust of displaced air. “Fire in a highrise,” Barry explained, then disappeared in a trail of lightning chased by ozone and something even Len can’t quite find words for. 

Len was more familiar than he’d like to be with how the multiverse seemed to still have a sense of teasing timing where he was involved, even after ensuring the destruction of its puppet masters, but there seemed to be a particularly-cruel concentration on this evening. A curl of wanting and disappointment and giddy anticipation all knot together in the back of his mind, and he decides there’s plenty enough time to pick it apart later. For now, he’s been left alone in the Labs and realizes he’s got no ulterior motive to entertain himself with.

At this hour, he’s sure their Team must have some at-home operating procedure that allows for them to coordinate even if nobody is present in the cortex, but Len finds himself crossing to the main console nonetheless, fingers trailing over cool metal and well-worn keys. Len snorts in amusement that once again, Barry is trusting him far more than he probably should be. Wasn’t part of their little deal to keep him supervised? _Tsk, tsk Scarlet._

Didn’t matter that Len had been honest when he said he had no intention of misbehaving within the confines of this team-up mission. Sentimentality had taken too deep a root, though none of Team Flash needed to know that.

The lightning bolt-shaped tracker beacon onscreen already shows the Flash at the alert location, more data cascading over the screen. Icons that seem to indicate communications controls - a speaker and microphone - show as being muted, and Len tapped the speaker; Cisco’s voice came through the cortex’s audio system.

“—already clear, fire department should be there in less than a minute. Nice work, man!”

“Awesome, thanks Cisco. Sorry to interrupt date night,” the Flash responded, and Len closed his eyes as Barry’s voice surrounded him. That’s… hm. Not at all unpleasant.

“No, she gets it; she’s the awesome Snart sibling, remember?”

It’s a good thing Len already knew about his sister and Ramon’s ongoing dalliances, but perhaps he should threaten the engineer more often just to make a point. Still, his sister seemed to genuinely like him, and Len had to give credit to anyone who made her smile like she had been these past few months.

 _Though you’ve been gone years_ , he has to remind himself, but then the cortex is filled with the sound of Barry’s soft laugh and Len drags in a deep breath at the pleasant warmth that sends spreading through him.

“Come on, Cisco, he’s not that bad. We’ve been over this,” Barry said, and there’s a lighthearted war with weariness in his words that speaks volumes of how many times they must have had this conversation. 

“Yeah, yeah, not gonna get into it. Have fun planning your crime date,” the engineer’s voice teased, though there’s no malice.

Len tapped the little icon showing a muted microphone, red turning to green as he leaned toward the mic on the console. “Oh, we will,” and he’s certain both of the heroes can hear the smug smile he’s wearing. “Now, make sure my sister enjoys her evening, Cisco.”

Within moments, the Flash burst into the cortex in a breeze of lightning, Cisco’s sputtering protests blaring through the comms. Leaning past Len, the speedster offered the thief a quicksilver grin as he reached for the console.

“Night, Cisco!” Barry bid cheerfully, cutting the comms then sliding his thumbs under his cowl to pull it off. “He is gonna be insufferable now,” he grinned at Len, propping a hand on his hip but clearly more amused than irritated.

“More than usual, you mean?” Len snorted, humming indifference then glowering at where he felt something vibrating in his jacket pocket. Pulling it free, he examined the screen of Barry’s phone where a series of messages from Cisco are still popping up.

“Here,” Len offered, holding the phone out to Barry as if it was a used tissue, “tell Ramon to focus on making sure my sister has a nice night so we can get back to planning our… crime date.” The last two words emerge like a teasing inside joke, and he’s delighted to see a bit of that flush from earlier returning to the speedster’s cheeks.

Barry shook his head, but accepted his phone back with a smile. 

When Barry joined Len back at the table nearly two minutes later, changed out of his alterego’s suit and still looking windswept, Len is grateful for the focus of planning the mission to prevent his mind from wandering where he knows it’s far too dangerous to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm also on tumblr [hautecoldture.tumblr.com](https://hautecoldture.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Chapters posted daily until complete! :D
> 
> Comments always welcome ♥ Thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

“Let’s hear it once more from the top, Barry,” Len’s imperious drawl commanded, and Barry snorted as he turned away from the dry erase board he’d been doodling on for the past half-hour for want of anything else to do. Aside from a situation downtown that needed Flash intervention earlier in the afternoon, they’d spent all day refining the plan. 

Barry had also been making a concentrated effort all day not to dwell on how Len seemed to be insinuating himself as close as he could at every possible opportunity, or how the thief had knowingly fiddled with one of the damn flash drives during a team huddle that morning (after Barry dealt with the fire last night, neither of them returned to the thief’s wager involving Barry lifting something from the table; by unspoken agreement, the tension of … _all of that_ had remained at a simmer for the rest of the evening). Mostly, it was working.

Except for the part where Len was still just. _Existing_ and being all playfully snarky and lounging around the Labs like a model and looking at Barry like he could see _exactly_ what sorts of illicit thoughts were running through the speedster’s head, and they had nothing to do with the mission.

Cisco, Caitlin, and Harry were making the final adjustments on the dampener-slash-concealment tech they’d built into a wristwatch for Barry to wear just in case, and Iris was on her way back from an errand. Barry had exhausted all the possible prep he could work on and Len seemed perfectly content to flick back through his annotations while drilling Barry on aspects of the plan and their contingencies.

That, too, was dangerously attractive; Leonard Snart was _really_ damn good at this, and Barry tried to keep his admiration at bay even while offering up questions that the thief seemed to relish in humoring. Humble wasn’t on his shortlist of celebrated traits, but he wasn’t dismissive either; if anything, Barry felt encouraged to ask whatever came to mind, rewarded each time with the curl of a smile or a glance that sent pleased warmth racing through him.

Capping the marker he’d been fiddling with, Barry turned toward Len and tilted his head with a playfully-exasperated twist of his mouth. “Really?” The speedster’s dry question earned an arched brow from the thief.

They’d gone over the plan until Barry thought he’d be reciting it in his sleep. So, instead, he quirked an impish grin and turned to face the thief, counting off on his fingers as he listed.

“Make the plan, execute the plan, expect the plan to go off the rails, throw away the plan,” Barry recited with only a slightly-nasal imitation of Len’s delivery. He’d not made mention of the thief’s pithy list the entire time, so he didn’t feel bad for delighting in finally doing so now.

The deadpan stare he received from the thief had Barry erupting in bright laughter, so much that he nearly missed the droll quirk of Len’s smirk as he commented, “Cute.”

Heels in the hallway announced Iris just before she turned the corner into the cortex, two garment bags in hand. “Seems like you two are having fun.”

“Impeccable timing, Miss West,” Len proclaimed, twisting and sliding smoothly from where he’d perched on one of the Labs’ consoles. “I believe it’s about time for us to get changed, and I trust everything is in order?”

“Got it all right here!” Iris answered, holding the garment bags up a little higher.

Curiously, Barry looked between the two of them with an odd feeling of having missed something. “What’s that about?” He asked, pointing at the large bags draped over her arm.

“Part of the plan,” the thief answered as Iris offered him one of the garment bags and he plucked it from her hand smoothly by the hook of its hanger. “Go get ready, Scarlet. Back here in twenty minutes.” He didn’t even pause in his stride as he swept out of the cortex.

Blinking in confusion, Barry turned his unvoiced curiosity on Iris. 

“We might have had a chat while you were out dealing with Flash business earlier today,” she explained, and Barry felt like he was becoming a human-shaped question mark.

“You—he—?” Barry stumbled over how to even ask over the crashing feeling of simultaneous warm excitement and chill dread. 

Iris grabbed him by the elbow and gently began leading him toward one of the Labs’ locker rooms. “Come on, Barr, stop acting like the world’s ending. I’ll explain while we walk. You’ll want the full-length mirror for this.”

Barry followed her lead, finally mentally catching up to ask, “What about the suit I brought?”

The pitying look Iris gave him was very similar to the one she’d worn almost every time he asked her opinion on the outfit he’d chosen for an important event (right before she dug into his closet and reoutfitted him). “Is it the gray one with the tiny check pattern? Or the brown one that looks like you’re auditioning for the role of a TA on a teen genre show?”

He pressed his lips into a line, taking a few steps before he dignified that with a response. “I like my gray one,” Barry said weakly.

“Oh, Barr, I do too, but it works for a wedding reception, not blending in while mingling with Central City’s criminal underground!”

Begrudgingly, he tipped his head and grunted that she did have a point.

Iris ushered Barry into the open locker room, handing off the garment bag with a supportive smile. “Leonard has a _great_ sense for fashion, it turns out. I might have to steal him for a little while once you’re done with all this.”

“Should I be worried that you two are already planning shopping trips?” Barry asked over his shoulder, disappearing behind a row of lockers for some privacy as Iris leaned against the wall near the door.

“Maybe,” she hedged, “based on what Lisa tells me, he’s almost as discerning as she is.”

Barry paused with one leg out of his pants, hopping awkwardly, but fortunately not falling. “Wait, since when were you hanging out with Lisa?” 

“Oh, Eddie and I went on a double date with Lisa and Cisco a few weeks ago,” Iris replied casually, “Dinner and karaoke. It was great! We’ve met up for coffee a few times, did you know she’s practically _Olympic-level_ skilled at ice skating? She’s gonna show me a few pointers when the rink gets set up downtown for the holidays.”

Moving on autopilot, Barry grappled with the strange and somehow reassuring revelation that Iris was _making friends_ with Lisa and, it seemed, Len as well. He knew it was a little unrealistic to expect the people he cared about to all like each other, but—

Huh.

It wasn’t really anything new, but maybe it was time to admit to himself that he _did_ care about Len. As a friend, yeah, but also in a nebulous potentially-more sense.

He’s glad nobody can see the private smile he’s indulging in, just happy to listen as Iris continues sharing about her outings with Lisa and their night of karaoke.

All that derailed when he finally pulled the suit out of the garment bag, and he took a moment to just run his fingers over the fabric. It’s not something he’d ever be able to identify, a smooth textile in rich burgundy so dark it almost looks black except for how the light catches on the deep crimson hue. Its thin lapel looks meant to be flat instead of folded back, the sharp points aimed inward; he doesn’t know much about style, but it immediately strikes him as unique and almost dangerous with its sleek lines.

Barry carefully gets dressed, fingers lingering over each layer to appreciate the sumptuous fabrics and how even the leather of the boots swept into a slight point, the look of them artistically weathered but clearly new.

“You doing okay back there, Barry?” Iris asked, and Barry tugged again on the fall of the impossibly-soft shirt that somehow both clings and hangs off his frame.

“Yeah, uh,” he checked himself over one last time as best he could without a mirror, then stepped out for her inspection, arms spread a little awkwardly. “This look okay?”

Her brows rose and he tracked her gaze as it traversed him. “ _Wow,_ ” Iris blurted.

“Is that a good wow, or a ‘we’re screwed’ wow?”

Iris crossed to guide him by the shoulder to inspect his reflection and… wow.

She was right about needing the full-body mirror.

Barry nervously ran the flat of his palm along the smooth leather of his belt. This wasn’t something he’d have ever thought to choose for himself, but he can’t deny it’s a _good_ look. It’s just the right side of slim-fitted, and he suspects that’s thanks to the two conspiring to get his sizes. The cut and fit… the whole ensemble hints at the sort of effortless chic he automatically associates with Len.

“ _Damn,_ Barry,” Iris grinned from behind him, then laughed at the wide-eyed blink that earned her. “I mean that in the best way, you look great. Even though he helped pick it out, ol’ Frosty won’t know what hit him when he sees you in this.”

_Because Len chose this. He practically dressed me up like…_

Barry wasn’t even sure how to complete that thought, scattered potential and hopeful things going by the wayside as he reminded himself to keep his head on his shoulders instead of spiraling out into _what if_ s.

Barry sucked in a sharp breath. “Iris, c’mon, that’s not— I mean, yeah, great if that’s also. A thing, but that’s not the point of this.” He’d been unable to avoid her noticing that he was obviously growing smitten with the thief over the past many weeks, and she’d been cautionary but supportive of him. Still, he wasn’t exactly eager to have her meddling.

Her appraisal softened to the fondness he was used to seeing from her. “No, hey, I get that, but after everything you did to get him back... Barr, it was obvious there was something up before you even rescued him. Even more obvious after you kept finding every possible excuse to go do superhero stuff with him.”

Brows drawing together, Barry turned from looking at her reflection to look her in the eye. She continued before he could voice any protest.

“Barry, I haven’t seen you like this around anyone else _ever_ , not even Linda or Patty or what’s-his-face from college. Or me,” Iris said kindly.

They’d long since worked through that, and while Barry still loved her, it had been years since he’d begun thinking of her as best friend and sister without the complicated layers of his unrequited childhood crush. It means more than he knows how to say that they’ve only gotten to be closer friends, that he’s genuinely happy for her and Eddie, and that she’s being just as kindly supportive of him as she’s always been. 

“Whatever it is or isn’t gonna be, we’ve gotta get through the mission first,” Barry finally responded. “After that…” he shrugged.

“I gotcha,” Iris offered a supportive squeeze to his shoulders. “One of those things even you can’t rush into, right?”

“Right,” he huffed into a laugh, though squinted dubiously at her, “Isn’t this where you should be warning me off? Telling me about how it’s a bad idea?”

Iris leveled a look at him that she’d learned from her father, dry deadpan delivery and all. “Should I? Would you listen to me even if I told you something like that?”

Barry tipped his head in acknowledgment of his history of ...well, not exactly listening to others. Especially where the thief was involved. Pressing his lips together, he finally managed an earnest (if apologetic) response. “I mean, I _do_ care about what you think, Iris. You know me better than anyone.”

Iris gave his shoulder another squeeze. “And you know your own _heart_ , Barry. And as much as I know I could tell you to be careful, nothing anyone says is going to change what your heart wants. Besides, I really think you’re right, what you said about him finally living up to what you saw in him. People can surprise you.”

Barry nodded, smile broadening as he found her reassurance eased a tension he hadn’t realized he was carrying. “Thanks, Iris.”

“Of course,” she replied kindly, patting his shoulder and smoothing out the fabric of his jacket.

Chin dipping in another silently grateful nod, Barry turned back to look at his reflection one last time. “Should probably go make sure we’ve got everything else ready to go.”

“You’re gonna do fine, Barry. Believe it or not, I’m honestly impressed with how thorough Leonard’s planning has been. It’s kinda nice to have that on _our_ side for a change.”

“Yeah, it is,” he agreed.

Iris generously took up the conversational baton after that as they returned to the cortex, and Barry couldn’t stop absently running his fingers over the unfamiliar garments. As Iris mentioned something else off-hand about her earlier conversation with Len, Barry found himself dwelling on it. The idea of the two of them plotting for his benefit sent a swoop of warmth curling through his gut that he felt threatening to turn into another broad smile.

Cisco greeted them almost immediately as they returned to the cortex, already talking as he fiddled with the device in his hand. “So, okay, we’ve got this thing all souped up and ready to go— _oh damn_ , Barry!”

The engineer cut his own train of thought off to admire the speedster’s getup, and Harry half-turned away from the whiteboard he’d been writing on to offer an uncharacteristically-appreciative pair of raised brows and complimentary, “huh. Not bad.” 

Caitlin’s head popped around the corner from where she was working in a lab alcove. Her wide-eyed blink flickered to Iris for a moment before she regained enough composure to offer a supportive smile. “You make a handsome criminal, Barry.”

“I should hope so,” a drawl chimed in, stealing the room’s attention for himself. “Some of us do have reputations to maintain.”

Len strolled into the room with all the grace of an unhurried predator, midnight-blue suit hugging his frame like it had been stitched from a swath of dark sky. The suit’s secondary accents were an even darker tone, black with a subtle silver sheen in how the light caught on the material. The black shirt tucked into his trousers had its first two buttons open, and he somehow managed to make the entire ensemble come across as simultaneously formal and casual. At his hip, the cold gun made for the perfect accessory, even though it should look out of place; instead, Barry just marveled at how the strap across Len’s thigh accentuated the fit of his trousers.

Barry was staring and he only realized it because the thief’s eyes caught on his and held, then traced over the speedster like he was checking the tailoring of every stitch. Barry suppressed a shiver, remembering how the other man had effortlessly adjusted his shirt last night in a way that was dangerously intimate.

_He looks amazing. I should tell him that, right? That he looks nice? Because wow. He looks nice. Better than nice. Amazing. I need a better word than amazing._

“ _Yokay_ , Romeos, I’ll just… slip this corsage on for ya, don’t mind me, don’t let me interrupt your whole… thing...” Cisco’s free hand flipped through the air and Barry absently registered that his friend had reached for his left hand, was fastening the modified dampener-concealment watch tech onto his wrist. Tearing his gaze away from the thief after an _embarrassingly_ long time, Barry finally paid attention to what the engineer was doing.

“Hold down the top-left and bottom-right buttons to activate and deactivate. Three second hold, then twist the top-right dial away from you until you feel a click. There’s an LED indicator on the screen that’ll blink green when you turn it on, red when you turn it off,” Cisco explained, demonstrating as he went.

The uneasy sensation of the dampening tech taking hold of his speed made Barry close his eyes against it as his stomach lurched in complaint, but they’d been modifying and tweaking it all day; it wasn’t the best feeling to get used to, but he could handle it. Fortunately, it subsided enough after a few minutes that he wasn’t too worried about spending his evening with the thing on. 

Still, he went through the steps to deactivate, re-activate, then deactivate it again under Cisco’s scrutiny. Harry, too, has joined them to scowl.

“You can also just take the thing off if you need to deactivate it in a pinch,” Harry intoned drily, and Cisco huffed an exasperated sigh.

“Oh, wow, why didn’t I think of that,” Cisco groused sardonically, and it was clear the two of them were about to launch into one of their bickering matches.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Len cut in from right beside the speedster, and Barry felt suddenly grateful for the thief’s sense of theatrical timing even if he hadn’t noticed him getting close. Len’s left hand rose in a graceful twist, making a show of looking at his own (non-dampening-tech) watch face. “We should head to the pick-up location for my car. They tend to charge even when they’re idling.”

“Right,” Barry agreed, numbly realizing that it was, in fact, time to do this thing. “Okay, well, if everything goes right, we’ll talk to you guys when we’re on the way back!” He was a little nervous (and maybe a lot distracted by the thief he was making a valiant effort not to stare at any more), but he felt cautiously optimistic.

“We’re on standby for back-up if you need it,” Iris reassured him, tipping a nod toward Len. The thief inclined his head toward her respectfully. Barry _really_ wanted to know what those two had talked about but that was a question he’d have to answer later.

“We’ll be creepin’ on the whole shindig, man. All our backup plans are solid,” Cisco tags on with what could almost pass for a respectful tip of his head toward Len.

“Good luck,” Caitlin offered kindly.

“With the mission, too,” Harry tagged on, and Cisco swatted his arm with a hissed, _“Harry!_ ” that did nothing to break the other man’s stoic little smirk. 

Barry didn’t get a chance to address any of that, attention refocused on the thief as he offered Barry his damn _arm_ with a playful smirk. “Shall we, Scarlet?”

Shaking his head in a soft laugh, Barry answered with a confident grin before he swept them both into his speed and ran.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer chapter here jumping between PoV more; as with the rest of this fic, unbeta'd and very certainly containing grammatical offenses. Hope you enjoy despite 'em ♥

Barry ran Len to the dropoff point where he’d await pick-up from a chauffeur, then Barry would get himself to within walking distance of the auction site; arriving together would be far too conspicuous. Before moving away from the speedster, Len paused briefly to catch Barry’s eye in a nonverbal assessment, reaching out to loosely grab Barry’s left wrist in his hand and guide it up in order to scrutinize the device’s watchface. After a long moment that felt like it lasted far longer for the speedster, Len finally said, “Don’t be late,” and released his hold as he strode off down the block. 

The nearness had made Barry feel all too aware of every breath he drew, and the thief’s reminder of timeliness pulled a slightly-delayed huff of laughter free. “Pretty sure I’ll get there before you do. See you soon,” Barry called after him, then set off into his speed again before he could do or say something stupid. 

Over the past day and a half of planning and strategizing, Barry had spent almost every waking moment around Len, either actively planning or passively observing him. It hadn’t helped him notice less that Len was particular about his physicality, and he felt like he was just starting to learn to read his nonverbal cues. Burgeoning feelings aside, Len didn’t _do_ stuff like that—with the touching and the personal space incursion and the prolonged eye contact—with anyone else. Not even Sara (and she’d told him an abridged version of their history some weeks before they’d sprung the rescue). Point was, Barry couldn’t help but linger on those things, noticing that the thief seemed to be doing it more each time their paths had crossed. With what had happened last night…

Barry hadn’t been able to stop wondering how things might’ve gone if a Flash alert hadn’t interrupted them. He knows what he’d been intending to do, and he’d felt both relieved and disappointed that the thief had resumed planning like nothing had happened after Barry took care of the fire.

But all of that was something he could dwell on later after they were done with the mission, when he could think himself to sleep on more fanciful things.

Barry arrived first, enabling the device on his wrist as he crossed the last block to follow along the promenade toward the boarding area. Sunset still lingered on the horizon, but street lamps already glowed along the edge of the dock leading toward the auction location: an _extremely_ nice private yacht, the sort of thing Barry had previously relegated to action movies and decadent lifestyles. With a last “ _You got this, Barry,_ ” muttered under his breath, Barry joined the short line of people (well-dressed criminals, he reminded himself warily) waiting to board. 

He made it through the surprisingly-polite security checkpoint and aboard the yacht with minimal fuss. Barry had to fight back his want to make conversation, the thief’s earlier warning still ringing through his head; _"_ _You babble when you get excited or nervous, and they won’t care if there’s a difference. Listen, but don’t engage unless you have_ _to,"_ Len had said, though not unkindly (and he wasn’t wrong).

Once he was aboard and onto the main deck, Barry mentally compared the layout to the schematics he’d been memorizing for the past day. He knew before looking where to expect stairways leading up onto a higher observation deck, that there were several doors offering access to the larger interior (all closed, for now). It’s oddly reassuring to find the layout fitting his expectations, and he wonders if this is what Len meant when he described the process of thorough reconnaissance as ‘soothing.’

Milling further into the crowd, Barry reminded himself for the fifth time in as many minutes to _not_ look around to try to find Len; in his defense, it seemed to him like everyone else was staring at him and he was just waiting for something to happen. Whether it was because Barry felt like he was so obviously out of place, or maybe just because Barry felt extra-paranoid without his usual comms support, or suppressing the telling fidget against his watch that was a constant reminder he couldn’t use his powers (and the residual queasiness from the dampener wasn’t exactly helping his nerves). Maybe all of the above; the cumulative result was that Barry felt a nervous flush itching at the back of his neck that their attempt to infiltrate things would be over before he even got past the main deck of the extremely-fancy private yacht (did it count as a yacht when it was this big? Was there some even-fancier term for stuff like this? Barry doesn’t think he’s ever been aboard something this large that floats, though he supposes the Waverider is technically also a ship that floats, albeit through time and space and— _Focus, Barry! )._

Barry pulled in a deep breath to release it in a slow exhale, trying to ease some of his anticipatory alertness as he wound toward the open bar to get himself something to drink. Checking his watch, it hadn’t even been half an hour since he made it aboard, though it felt like it’d been longer. He’d been politely hanging back from any conversation, listening in on a few of the natural circles that had formed in the crowd; aside from a wildly over-exaggerated story involving a gutsy chihuahua, none of it had been worth lingering on.

Len said he would find him, strike up a companionable chat, then get the next stage of the plan into motion. He just didn’t know how long that would take, and—

“Relax, Scarlet,” purred the low sound of the thief’s voice from beside Barry, accompanied by a hand on his lower back a moment later, guiding him through the small crowd mingling on the ship’s deck toward the open bar. “If you don’t want the night to end prematurely, I suggest you stop looking like you expect everyone to stab you.”

On a grateful gust of a sigh, Barry followed the thief’s lead, jerking a nod. He was _really_ glad Len hadn’t taken too long. “Yeah, sorry, just. Guess I wasn’t expecting…”

Len arched a brow at him, gaze briefly catching Barry’s before it slanted away again. “What? That the criminal underworld has class and taste?”

“No, I guess I didn’t realize it was gonna be _this_ upscale. I, uh, kinda feel like I should’ve done more etiquette prep or something,” Barry admits, tugging at the sleeve of his blazer. “I’m just hoping we didn’t end up aboard the crime Titanic.”

The thief chuckled again, reaching to grab two freshly-poured glasses of something light amber and bubbly, offering one of them to Barry as he steered them away again to the relative privacy afforded near an open stretch of railing. 

“Like I said, _relax_.” Len half-turned toward Barry, tilting his head as he tucked his glass up against his neck, cool gaze traveling down the speedster then back up again with open appraisal. “For the record, you look fine,” he said a little more softly, reaching to lightly adjust the line of Barry’s collar in a brief touch that Barry suppressed a shiver at.

Barry ducked his head as he sipped at the drink, fizz tickling at his nose. “Yeah, well, as I understand it you and Iris both decided I needed help dressing myself, so don’t strain anything patting yourself on the back,” he muttered into his glass, though there’s a little smile in it. Once again, that pleased jolt slides through him at the thought of those two working together, even if it might eventually backfire on him. He found he didn’t mind the idea of that too much.

“You’re welcome,” the thief drawled, and Barry snorted a soft laugh. Splaying his fingers out in a graceful gesture toward the speedster, Len’s head tilted as he continued, “Couldn’t have the mission ending before we even made it in the front door, so I set us up for success.” 

“What, you don’t like my usual suit?” Barry grinned, and the thief’s arched brow only sharpened the cut of his gaze when it returned to the speedster. Len’s response was slow enough in coming that Barry had to stop himself from fidgeting.

“Quite the opposite,” Len responded finally, and it’s rare for his eye to linger like it does now, holding Barry’s as if daring him to look away first. “But it’s hardly appropriate attire for this evening.”

Barry doesn’t know what his face is doing, but he knows he stares at Len a little longer than he probably should before ducking his head into another soft laugh that likely isn’t doing much to help cover the burn he’s feeling in his cheeks.

“Yeah? Well, don’t get me started or I might say something sentimental about a parka,” Barry tilted back with a crooked tease quirking his smile up.

“You, sentimental? Perish the thought,” Len intoned drily, though there was a smile warming his eyes that Barry couldn’t look away from if he tried.

Barry shrugged, “You got me. Heart on my sleeve and sentiment in my veins, I’m just that kinda guy.”

“Yes, you are,” Len responded, though it was softer. He took a breath, looking away from the speedster to survey the deck. “You should be careful about that. Especially here.” Long fingers flicked out in a broad indication toward the crowd. “Lots of people who’d love to sink their claws into you if you aren’t on guard.”

A twinge of warmth sung through Barry at the cautionary warning. “Good thing you’re here to make sure they don’t.”

The thief’s gaze remained averted, but his lips quirked up slightly. “Good thing.”

Stepping away from the railing, Len slid his hand into place once more against Barry’s lower back, guiding him once again, and a pleasant tingle skated up the speedster’s spine from the point of contact. “Come along, Scarlet; time for us to play the game and make our rounds.”

As he had before, Barry once again followed the thief’s lead. He doesn’t mind the presumptuous words or actions _nearly_ as much as he probably should. 

“Lead the way,” Barry responded, though has to fight against showing any of the disappointment he feels when Len’s hand falls away. 

This part of the plan would last until, hopefully, one of them found something or the auction got underway. They’d be seen together, then break off and mingle a bit on their own while scouting out other parts of the yacht, meeting back up intermittently (and Barry had rolled his eyes at the thief’s ribbing about tardiness; he wasn’t _entirely_ incapable of sticking to a schedule, okay, jeez).

“I trust you’ll behave on your own for a little while?” Len asked, perhaps a touch louder than the rest of their conversation had been.

“Yeah, yeah, if I wanted to look for trouble I’d just come find you,” Barry stuffed a hand into his pocket. “Promise I won’t make myself sick on all the finger food, either.”

Len’s gaze cut momentarily toward the nearest passing waiter-borne tray of tiny foods, then back toward the speedster. “I’ll hold you to that. Run along now,” he bid Barry with a graceful gesture and private humor that earned an eyeroll from the speedster, but Barry was grinning as he flipped his wrist into a far-less graceful one-finger salute, then turned away toward his quadrant of the deck.

Left on his own, Barry was immediately reminded of the almost-crushingly-awkward discomfort he’d felt earlier. The gangly awkwardness he’d never completely grown out of felt like it was trying to hunker back down in his bones as he made an effort to remain outwardly aloof. Len’s company had momentarily insulated him from the worst of it, but now he feels like he’s sticking out like a sore thumb again. He has to keep reminding himself, too, not to tap into his speed. There was no reason to chance running afoul of the device if they could help it. Fingers tracing briefly over the watch on his wrist, Barry set about his part of the plan. 

❄️

Watching the speedster put on his best effort to blend in was both better and worse than Len had imagined. Barry was clearly uncomfortable, but most of it could be dismissed as him being an unfamiliar up-and-comer in a sea of more established, far-more-dangerous people. His nerves and pretty face might make him an enticing target for anyone trying to work the crowd, but Len had to allow himself a dark roll of amusement at the thought.

After all, the only person more dangerous than Len at this soirée was the speedster.

Not that Barry would ever consider himself in that light, but it was an aspect that Len hadn’t been able to discount from the first moment he encountered ‘the Streak.’ He’d been foolish enough to underestimate him early-on, and had since only gained an ever-growing respect for the young man’s control and strength of character. For many, such powers would prove temptation enough to corrupt; for kind-hearted Barry Allen, they were a conduit to do good.

Len paused his prowling exploration twice more, engaging a familiar chop shop runner (she’d always had principles, and her frankness was refreshingly bold), followed by one of the less-capable but genuinely trustworthy fences (a skittish man whose familiar old Coke-bottle glasses had disappeared since Len last saw him; Lasik, the little man happily proclaimed, and Len didn’t have to play up the congratulations for once). Each conversation is well-observed, he knows, and he seeds just enough information to tease at rumors, disengaging once his purposes are met.

Ascending to the upper observation deck, Len easily followed the familiar unruly brunette head of hair as Barry wove back into the crowd. Not for the first time, Len turned over all the things about Barry Allen that have taken root in his chest, and hates that they’re growing into a shape he doesn’t quite yet know how to name. He has suspicions, has doubts, yes, but it’s an unpredictable thing he can’t control. That lack of control should scare him more than it does. Instead, it sends a thrilling pang of something unfamiliar and hopeful through him; reminds him of the past day, of the way Barry had looked at him last night, and makes him wonder.

Len positioned himself against the upper deck’s railing, sipping at his drink from an angle that ensured he won’t be approached unaware, and catalogued the familiar faces in the crowd. Despite the lack of information Team Flash had to work from on who was involved in the Mercury Labs tech theft, Len had narrowed the list of likely suspects within hours. Looking out over the attendees below, he easily confirms the list of other suspicions; who he expected to see, and with whom they associated (or, just as notable, who they avoided). For nearly ten minutes, Len sips and observes, needing only to level a momentary glance at a young pair of out-of-town thrillseekers to ensure his vantage remains his alone.

It goes without saying that he noticed every eye taking stock of him, too; his ego doesn’t need the buffing, but he tucked a smirk against the rim of his glass as he watched ripples of that recognition register through the crowd. The hushed gestures and furtive glances. The rumors surrounding his absence had been many, and all of them served his purposes well. The gem cities seemed to have constructed quite a mythos around Leonard Snart in his absence, and he wasn’t eager to disabuse them of that grandiose mystique. He was especially fond of the elements he knew were Lisa’s doing; that he’d expanded his influence beyond Central City, and that his choice to make an appearance was significant enough that the crowd of criminals gave him a wide berth despite their curiosity.

Be it out of fear, respect, or some intermingling of the two, Len preferred the aloof solitude it won him. As he’d suspected, however, it immediately marked him as more conspicuous, and though he’d anticipated as much, it meant there may be a great deal more of the evening resting on the speedster’s shoulders than he’d hoped. 

Len knew the Santini brat was aimed to catch him in conversation before he’s even climbing the stairs, and sees the guard buffoons moving into positions in the crowd even as two peel off to accompany him. By the time the cocky young man steps into Len’s space, the thief has comfortably propped an elbow against the railing and doesn’t need to glance at his watch to know that his anticipation of this, too, is fitting right into his plan.

“If I knew a ship shindig was all it took to get you to show your face, Snart, I’d have chartered a fleet,” Santini opened with the greasy charm his family was known for.

“Not enough crew to be a ship,” Len corrected him easily, not deigning to look at the young mess of a man. “But the carnally-indulgent mermaids added to the masthead _just_ class it from boat to yacht.”

Twisting enough to angle his chin more toward Santini, Len tipped a nonchalant nod. “Love the décor motif, though; Art Deco is always a smart bet, if a bit cliché for a crime family.”

It’s sad how easy Santini is to rile, but to his credit, he seems to have gotten a slightly-better handle on his temper in the past years since Len last saw him. Tension raised Santini’s shoulders, one of his flunkies taking a step forward, but Santini gestured to stop him.

“There a specific item you’re interested in tonight, Snart? Tell you what,” Santini sniffed, “I already talked to my co-host and she agreed a gesture of good faith toward one of Central City’s most .. ah, distinguished folks wouldn’t go amiss.”

Len’s expression remained neutral even as amusement slid through him; they were afraid of him and wanted to placate him before anything could happen. It was adorable.

Less so was this news of a ‘co-host;’ Santini didn’t share his toys outside the family, and Len had an unsettlingly short list of potential names who the mobster might have partnered with.

One, in particular, he had hoped to avoid (for her sake more than his own); all his planning had reassured him she was on the other side of the planet. Even so, the open question was one he needed to solve, and soon.

“How generous,” Len intoned, tucking his nearly-empty glass against his neck as he finally turned more fully toward Santini. “But where’s the fun in hand-outs? I realize local headlines haven’t caught my action in a while, but my game is still for the thrill. Stealing a bid is far more satisfying than a consolation prize.”

Santini seemed to expect that, though tipped his head in something approximating respect. “I did say you’d established a brand for yourself, Snart. You got a code. That’s respectable, as crooked bastards go. Gotta hand you that.”

Len’s smirk sharpened, brow arching as his gaze flicked back to the periphery; no movement to be concerned with. Good. “Flattery too? Unless you’ve got some hefty ice in your pocket, I’m afraid you’re just not my type.”

The other man snorted and took a step closer to Len, his voice dipping low. “I ain’t lookin for trouble tonight, Snart. You? You’re trouble. Now, me an’ mine, we ain’t stepped on your toes since we came to an agreement, which we mean to keep to.” Santini’s brows rose, and Len’s eyes returned to regard the man at the mention of the ‘agreement’.

As in, the Santini family had agreed to Len’s terms and given him and any of his interests as wide a berth as they possibly could. Len had earned the way the crowd had parted around him all evening, and the few people he’d engaged in brief conversation (including the calculated aside with Barry) ensured he’d woven intrigue in his wake. This conversation was doing _wonders_ for Len’s ego.

“Don’t you worry,” Len purred, “The only wars I’m starting tonight are with a paddle in the bidding. The status quo remains unchanged, unless,” his words gathered a deadly chill he’d perfected long before he got his colorful cool moniker, “...you prefer we have a different sort of conversation?”

Len’s tone left no question as to precisely what that ‘conversation’ would entail, and for the first time that evening, his hand strayed to where the cold gun’s harness held it in flagrant display against his thigh. It was hardly necessary, but let it never be said Len didn’t take the opportunity to push his advantage for dramatic effect.

Santini studied him, eyes following the movement of Len’s hand, his jaw working around whatever he was thinking. He finally rolled his shoulders, nodding his head. “See you inside then, Snart. Have yourself a nice evening, and, uh. You let me and my boys know if there’s anything you need.”

“Will do,” Len allowed politely, pulling his hand back from his gun in a roll of his wrist to settle it against his chest with some veneer of gestured sincerity. “Hope you get to enjoy yourselves as well,” he offered, gaze sliding to include the guards, which made one of them visibly stiffen. _Delightful._

He watched them leave while nursing the last sips of his drink. The requisite posturing dance with Santini had taken forty-seven seconds longer than he’d anticipated, but it’s well within the allowable parameters he’d set for this part of the plan. Len checks the time on his watch, though he hardly needs to, and looked back out over the crowd. 

####  **⚡️**

Timing-wise, Barry was proud to find, he was well ahead of schedule. He’d managed to mill around the deck and scope out everything he needed; the obvious security detail, the not-so-obvious-but-still-kinda-obvious security detail, the crap countermeasures and the stuff that they actually had to worry about—even without his powers, he’d been as thorough as he could be without being obvious about it. Or at least, he hoped that was the case.

He still felt like everyone was staring at him, but he’s doing his best to channel his inner Oliver with a side of Snart to keep his spine from buckling. It’s either working great or he’s gonna have to dodge shivs and shots before the night’s done, and it should probably worry him that both of those likely scenarios are in the realm of familiar enough that he’s not even immediately worried about navigating them sans-speed.

Reaching for one of the little toasted cheese bites on a passing tray (hey, he’s avoided eating ALL EVENING so far, he’s earned this), Barry popped it into his mouth as he entertained a moment of dark humor over how damn _weird_ his life is.

Of course, it’s when he’s got his mouth full of food that someone struck up a conversation.

“You should try the little meat pies,” a voice from just behind him said, and Barry did a poor job of turning around nonchalantly. 

A woman—clad in a rich black gown that looked to have been poured and sleekly arranged to perfectly accentuate her, cascade of inky smooth hair draped over one shoulder with a thread of gold dangling a delicate jeweled shape from her opposite ear—surveyed Barry like she intended to eat him.

Barry swallowed his mouthful thickly, finding he was suddenly not at all enjoying the taste and was, in fact, very not hungry. A primal instinct raised alarm in the way he understood fire would burn and that he couldn’t breathe water.

Whatever she saw in his reaction only invited her to approach, and he did his best to smother the sudden panic with the reassurance of the plan, of his paltry experience; he could _do_ this. Just because he’d spent the night doing his best to avoid anything but the briefest conversation (he’d gotten two whole sentences with a person earlier; they hadn’t been polite, but it still counted!), Len had covered this base, too. _“If anyone tries to chat you up, let them do the heavy lifting,"_ the thief had instructed; Barry hadn’t needed to reach deep for plenty of examples of prior awkward social situations to pattern his behavior on. 

“I’ll try to, thanks,” Barry finally responded on a tight smile, not turning any more fully toward her and hoping his body language does enough to disinvite further chat.

She isn’t dissuaded in the slightest. “Been a while since I saw a pretty new face,” the woman said, offering her hand and Barry _shouldn’t_ take it.

He shouldn’t, but he’s already twitching into the motion because he was raised polite, and keeping up appearances is the point of all this; he doesn’t want to blow it, and alarmingly enough, he has _no idea_ who she is.

During the planning, Len had compiled a most-likely-attendees rundown complete with mugshots and a few other databases padding things out; this woman wasn’t among them.

Barry politely took her hand in a half-shake, half-bow that feels both entirely ridiculous and at once not at all formal enough for the situation. Her expression smoothed from discerning into delight, and he’s not sure if it’s good or bad that she seemed to like what he’s done.

“Pretty _and_ a gentleman,” she crooned, and the hairs on the back of his neck raised as that sense of foreboding redoubled. 

“What brings you out tonight?” the woman asked, and she’s not releasing his hand but instead moving closer.

Barry felt like he was trapped and did his best to not look it. “Curiosity. You?”

“Potential,” she answered, and Barry’s pretty sure that’s the expression a vampire makes before sinking their teeth into your neck.

 _I can do this_ , he repeated his internal motivation. He had a whole year of musical theater to his name and he’d been the understudy for Seymour in their high school production of _Little Shop of Horrors_. He was the _Flash_ , dammit. Bolstering his own confidence, he turned more fully toward her, the movement pulling his hand away from hers. “Find any yet?” Barry asked.

Her gaze slid down his frame in an open assessment that made his skin crawl. “I believe I have.”

Barry snorted a dry laugh. “That’s an awful lot of investment, you might want to save something for the auction.”

Her eyes glittered, head tilting as she regarded him. “I don’t tend to hesitate when I see something I want.”

“Wow,” Barry said on another laugh, shaking his head because—really—what could he even say to that? “I, uh, not that I don’t appreciate it, but that’s, ah, not in the cards for me.”

The woman’s hand rose to his shoulder, and he made an effort not to go tense when he felt the subtle pressure of her touch. “Then perhaps someone should deal you a new hand. Whose cards are you playing tonight, pretty thing?”

“He’s mine,” answered a familiar drawl, and Barry managed to keep his composure this time even though he internally punched the air and sent up a _thank you_ for Len’s timely intervention. He also had to give himself a moment to reboot at mentally tripping over Len’s words.

Because, wow, uh. That’s. 

Shit, the sound of Len calling Barry _his_ was maybe a thing the speedster wasn’t at all expecting to take him out at the knees, but his mind was doing him the vivid solid of replaying the sound of those two syllables. 

_He’s mine,_ and it should probably bother him instead of sending a rush of heat through him at realizing, yeah, he _really_ likes the sound of that.

And the implication.

Shit.

By the time Barry caught up to what was happening (his processing at normal speed without the bump of his powers), Len had insinuated himself close enough that the slight brush of his shoulder was all the forewarning he got before the thief’s hand settled into place against Barry’s lower back.

And, yeah, _damn_ , that’s nice too.

Barry was really hoping that meant Len was about to take over the conversation, because he’s not sure he’d do a great job of keeping up while he mentally collects himself.

“Leonard,” the woman’s voice greeted evenly; not the honeyed warmth she’d been speaking to Barry with, but a controlled aloofness. Her attention had abandoned Barry entirely, though flickered for a moment to where the thief’s touch had settled on him.

Len tilted his head minutely, a movement Barry caught out of the corner of his eye. The thief’s voice returned her greeting with sharp affected saccharine familiarity. “Hello, Alexa.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand another long chapter here, too! Can you tell I got out of hand writing this? .... yeah  
> ANYWAY  
> as with the rest of this, unbeta'd; there shall certainly be errors, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless ♥

It had been years since Len last saw her, longer if he counted his temporary absence from the timestream as a living participant.

He flexed the fingers of his hand where he’d occasionally grown accustomed to the cool fit of a metal reminder around his pinkie. Len had made a deal with Mick that saved their friendship after everything else nearly cost their lives. Mick still had the ring; Len had insisted he keep it when his friend offered it back post-rescue, wordlessly pinched up in the thick leather of his glove. He’d only grunted when he accepted continued stewardship of the memento. 

Alexa looked at him differently now than she had back then. All the warm charm has cooled into wary caution, deadly seductive demeanor doing her best to feign aloof respect.

Len could tell she was unsettled.

After all these years, it doesn’t evoke the same delightful appeal it once might have. Instead, he finds his attention drawn more to the speedster shifting slightly under his touch, warmth seeping through the smooth burgundy of his jacket.

So the smile he granted her is an unfamiliar shape that he reveled in for himself, even if he knew it would only further unbalance her. “You’re as stunning as ever, my dear. I must thank you for co-hosting this...” Len glanced around the deck, though his attention only wandered far enough to take stock of the slightly-more-subtle lackeys keeping her perimeter, “... _lovely_ evening.”

“My pleasure,” Alexa responded with the social grace of a dutiful hostess, “though I didn’t realize you’d be attending. I might have ensured there were better arrangements.”

“Too kind,” he granted. He’d not say more to invite the potential of even entertaining the notion that there might be some other time when the gesture would be wanted. He has no intention of being the first one to leave this conversation, but he’s also not going to contribute to prolonging it if he can help it.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your pretty friend, Leonard?”

Len could tell Barry was looking at him, and the thief’s thumb made a slow circle against the speedster’s lower back. His calculated conversations peppered through the evening with a few of the other attendees may as well have been fireworks displays now; all of his social ploys went up in smoke the instant he saw that this woman was Santini’s co-host, his ‘partner.’ Even if Len’s approaches and tactics had evolved over the years, she was still too clever, too _familiar_ with his methods to risk adherence to his initial plan. She’d caught on to there being something worthwhile in the young man beside him; Len’s interest had painted him a target.

Before Len could answer, though, Barry speaks and it’s a credit to Len’s composure that he doesn’t visibly react to the jolt of surprise it sends through him. 

“He can introduce himself,” Barry said smoothly, though he doesn’t offer his hand. “Allen.”

They’d settled on using Barry’s surname; he was bad enough at lying that if he needed to give something out, better to err on the side of familiarity. Nevermind that if anyone truly decided to go searching, his CCPD profile was far too easy to find; better they think he was a CSI trying a walk on the wild side than an undercover snitch.

“Allen,” Alexa purred, her attention returning to the speedster in a way that would have Len’s hackles raising if he weren’t already on the alert. As it is, he feels Barry go ever-so-slightly more tense under his hand.

“You did always have the best taste in toys, Leonard,” she commented, and some of her unease is slipping back behind the veneer of her persona. “I’d love to hear more about how you found this one.”

“Perhaps after the main event,” Len interjected before she could invite them to wherever she’s spun her web, and he noticed the spark of discontent that rippled through her countenance before she affected a seductive pout.

“We still had a bit of window shopping to do before everything gets started,” Barry volunteered, leaning a little closer to Len in a way that made Alexa’s expression momentarily falter into something almost comical. 

Len _had_ informed the speedster to invoke closer physical proximity if they needed to make their excuses to leave a conversation if a simple phrase or gesture wouldn’t do (and Barry had combined the phrase — _window shopping_ —with the physical underscore, which meant the speedster was especially eager to be out of the situation). 

What Len hadn’t specified was that physicality in particular would be incredibly telling for the thief, partially because Len had foolishly thought the few people who understood him well enough to read its significance would be _absent_.

Alexa was supposed to still be in the Balkans.

Len’s smirk flattened into something akin to the pasted-on cheer of a Stepford wife with a bloody kitchen knife tucked behind her back. “I’m sure we’ll see you inside,” Len said sweetly, and the intensity of his unwavering gaze seemed to finally unsettle the nerve Alexa had been holding.

Snatching a glass from a passing waiter, she offered them a prim smile of her own. “Of course, don’t let me hold you up. I’ll look for you again after you’ve won your prizes,” she allowed sweetly, and Len had to admire the attempt at a threat even if it’s ineffective.

She momentarily swayed nearer to Barry, but the speedster neither pressed closer to Len nor leaned away, instead holding his position as he stared her down with an expression near as Len’s ever seen to ‘polite disinterest.’ Apparently, that’s enough to finally send Alexa prowling back into the throng of well-dressed scoundrels, and Barry waited eight seconds before he pulled in a deep breath that then escaped like it was trying to flee the evening.

“Okay,” Barry started slowly, turning more fully toward Len and causing the thief’s hand to fall away as the speedster faced him. “Who was _that_?”

“That… was going off the rails,” Len answered low enough that only Barry could hear, the thief’s gaze still wandering through the crowd.

“... oh,” Barry said hollowly, scratching at one of his sideburns and shuffling his stance like he’s momentarily unsure what to do with his feet.

Len has time to lambaste himself later; for now, he needs to re-evaluate and formulate a new fit for their plan. While this wasn’t ideal, it was still within the contingencies he’d planned for, and—

“Hey,” Barry’s voice from beside him is close and soft, accompanied by a gentle touch on Len’s elbow. It pulled the thief’s attention from his visual roving and mental reeling to recenter on the speedster, who was looking at him with guarded worry.

“I wanna get some air,” Barry said, just before sharp words bit free from between Len’s teeth, and the thief was then guided to a stretch of railing not unlike where they’d met up earlier. Len felt the curious glances sliding over them as they walked, Barry’s leading tug slowing only once they found a spot considerably more secluded.

Barry released him, but he only moved away far enough to lean against the railing, half-turned toward Len. It’s impressive how his body language telegraphed all the right things to be undemanding and comforting while still open and attentive; Len would almost think it a perfect show of manipulation if he didn’t know that the speedster was just truly, earnestly, just _like that_.

He’s not sure it’s warranted for him, but a private part of Len finds he rather likes that breadth of subconscious consideration and attention from Barry.

“I didn’t recognize her,” Barry opened softly, and the obvious question is one he lets hang implied in the night air between them.

“She wasn’t included because she was still in Europe, and I checked _several_ times,” Len started to explain flatly, and it’s clear that’s not quite good enough when the furrow of Barry’s brow deepened. “She’s… past history.”

Len is used to Barry chattering away to fill the silence; the quiet patience he had leveled at Len now bidding him to continue his explanation is more unsettling than the thief wants to admit.

“It was nearly fifteen years ago,” Len said, having to jostle against his own internal sense of time and those missing years once again. “We worked together, she and I. Mick, too. It was good until it wasn’t. We came to a civil arrangement after the multiple murder attempts didn’t pan out in anyone’s favor.”

Saying even that much was more explanation than he wanted to give, and he didn’t look at Barry as he spoke. His gaze wandered the dark horizon with its flecks of sallow light hugging its edge, tried not to remember how close all of that had really been to ending everything.

“So what do we do?” Barry asked, his voice not ungentle but unsoftened by the judgment or pity he’d expected the speedster to thread into connecting his dots, and Len was grateful.

Len counted his heartbeats as they finally started to hold steady in a pace that wasn’t spiked with adrenaline.

“We don’t wait until after the auction. We make it happen during,” Len said as if it’s not one of the more dangerous scenarios they’d outlined in their contingencies.

Barry’s expression hiked through the stages of realizing how serious Len was about ‘off the rails,’ finally settling in what Len suspects it must look like under the Flash’s cowl when he’s about to do something brazenly heroic.

“Okay,” Barry agreed, “I trust you,” and he may as well have kicked Len in the chest for how those words hit him again.

“You shouldn’t,” Len reminded him, finally catching the speedster’s eyes again and hating that he can’t help but notice how the soft indirect light hugs on Barry’s features as if outlining precisely where best to caress. Remembered how Iris had warned him that Barry didn’t do anything with any less than his whole heart, and that the young man keeps looking at Len like his heart has _intentions_.

Barry just shrugged, shoving his hands into the pockets of his ridiculously-expensive trousers like he didn’t care that it ought to ruin the intended fall and fit, instead perfectly imbuing his chic garments with an approachable friendliness. “I still do,” he offered up a crooked smile that shoved at Len’s pulse again, and continued speaking as if he’s not an impossible thing. “We gonna do the plan with the keycards or the more direct approach?”

“Keycards, then direct if neither of us manages to snag one before the auction is twenty minutes in,” Len answered almost automatically.

Barry nodded; he was still looking at Len even though the thief’s gaze had wandered back across the horizon because he couldn’t stand all that earnestness at once. Not when he’s got composure to maintain. He knows Barry’s going to ask before the words come, and Len can’t find it in himself to mind.

“You okay?” Barry asked, because of course he would; of course he cared so loudly that Len can feel the speedster’s bleeding heart trying to take up residence on his own sleeve just by proximity.

“Fine, Scarlet,” Len answered, and while it’s not entirely untrue, it comes out softened with more honesty than he’d grant anyone else in this city, aside from his sister. He held the deeper truth in the back of his throat, unvoiced; there are few people who’d even care enough to ask, and he allowed himself the momentary, private decadence of reveling in recognizing that the speedster is one of them.

That he _likes_ Barry caring. About him.

Barry propped himself up in Len’s eyeline, tilting his head until Len relented and finally looked back toward the speedster. “Really, Barry. Save those puppy eyes for charming the crowd.”

Snorting, Barry nudged his shoulder against Len; another liberty of physical contact he’d allow from very, very few. “Yeah, yeah. Okay, how long do we have before—”

A series of polite chimes interrupted Barry, the universe’s sense of cosmically-apt timing helpfully answering the question he hadn’t finished asking. 

Regaining his composure on one last pull of air ( _in, count for five, out, count for ten_ ), Len turned primly toward the speedster and offered his elbow. “That’s our cue. Come along, now; don’t let my arm get cold.” 

The mixture of exasperated fondness the speedster aimed at him as he tucked his own arm into Len’s was far more endearing than it had any right to be.

####  **⚡️**

Though Barry’s certain Len wouldn’t admit it directly, it sure seemed like the situation with Alexa had rattled him. The thief was good at presenting whatever outward face he wanted the world to see. If Barry hadn’t taken Len aside to check in, he’s sure the man would have kept his composure perfectly intact for the rest of the evening.

As it is, Barry felt a flare of protectiveness at the vulnerability he saw once he got the thief off into some relative seclusion. He could tell Len was leaning into planning, examining his surroundings like it was a lifeline. He’d almost expected Len to snap at him, but instead caught the weight of his considering cool gaze and it seemed Len allowed a bit of his tightly-held control to relax just enough to give himself space to regroup. To answer honestly instead of deflecting.

He’d been doing that more often, too. The rare, private moments of honestly without the over-the-top persona or barbed defenses. It had started that first late night when it had just been the two of them in the Waverider’s galley. Happened in little moments that Barry had begun seeking out. Barry was starting to revisit those interactions and do his best to piece together his read of the thief without letting his complicated-and-growing feelings get in the way. 

That Leonard Snart _liked him_ was obvious. What that meant, and to what extent, was the thing that had been keeping Barry up at night (and fueling his vivid imagination in directions he shouldn’t think about right now). 

Glancing at the man beside him, Barry caught Len’s eye after he’d probably been staring too long again; the thief’s smirk curled as he _winked_.

Barry responded by rolling his own eyes, but he couldn’t dampen the pleased smile it evoked.

They joined the crowd filtering into the large ballroom, its previously-barred doors now held open by a uniformed member of the waitstaff at each entrance. Tucked against Len’s side as he was, Barry noticed all the more keenly how the thief seemed to command a parting of the crowd, which was kinda unsettling.

“Hey, so,” Barry muttered as he leaned a little closer, “is there a reason you’ve got a mob Moses thing going on or…” 

Len chuckled, which Barry felt as much as heard, and tried not to let it derail him into dwelling on how nice that was.

“Seems my reputation precedes me,” Len murmured with pleased nonchalance.

“Should we be worried about people asking for autographs?”

Another warm-soft laugh rolled through the thief, and Barry wished he could keep it for himself.

“Don’t worry, you’ve got head-of-line privileges,” Len teased, and Barry jostled lightly against him.

“Awesome, I _totally_ promise I won’t immediately turn around and sell them on eBay,” Barry grinned.

The uncharacteristically undignified snort of a laugh that got out of the thief made Barry grin even wider.

The ballroom had a small stage set in its center, with roped-off pathways leading from either side. Len led Barry to a vantage equidistant between two of the three sets of exit doors; not a perfect view of the room, but good enough to see most of what they needed. People seemed less-inclined to give Len as much space here, but there was still a fair perimeter of nearly three feet around where he and Barry stood.

One of the uniformed staff approached, offering paddles for use in the bidding; Barry was unsurprised to see Len accept one with a polite ‘ _thanks_.’ 

“Do I need to get one of those?” Barry asked as quietly as he could, and earned himself an arched brow from the thief.

“Do you plan on spending a few million to make a point?”

Barry blanched, “Nope, don’t need one.”

“I’m not entirely joking. But you’d have had to arrange before arrival. Best leave the bidding to me, but if you take a shine to any of the lots, I could be persuaded to get you an extra-early birthday present.” Len’s eyes glittered with humor.

Barry blinked, head tilted in slight surprise and confusion. “You know when my birthday is?” 

Did that mean something? Because Barry kinda hoped it meant something.

Wait, should it be worrisome that Len knew his birthday? Was it because he’d gone digging through everything he could find on Barry when he learned his identity? That was probably it, right?

“What, you don’t know mine?” Len answered by not answering, pausing to give Barry room to respond. When the speedster’s brows just rose and his expression started to take on something nearing apologetic, Len waved his paddle dismissively. “Never mind, I take it back, now my feelings are hurt.”

“When’s your birthday?” Barry blurted softly, only realizing after he asked the question that this probably wasn’t the best time or place for it.

Len turned toward him more fully, cocking his head at the speedster with a look that Barry could almost categorize as _fond_. “I’ll tell you later,” he said in a low, private tone that made Barry just want to lean closer. Len then continued more casually, “After you earn it. You can start by getting us drinks.”

Following the direction Len tipped his head in, Barry noted a nearby bar and a few more tray-laden waitstaff working through the crowd. He also saw several of the security personnel, including one of the more inconspicuous ones who turned just enough that Barry noticed the glimpse of an earpiece on; very probable he’d have an access keycard.

Barry then recognized that Len was _challenging_ him. Returning his attention to the thief, Barry barely fought down a giddy smirk. “I’ll be back soon.”

“See that you are,” Len retorted, turning just enough to watch Barry go as he released the speedster’s arm with a last, lingering drag of fingertips and pressure that made Barry want to do anything but walk away. “Ten minutes.”

“Easy,” Barry replied in an echo of the challenge the thief had leveled at him the night before, chin tipping back in a haughty nod, then angled his way through the crowd and toward his mark. 

Len said nothing more, but Barry was determined; not just to complete this mission, but to show that he could pull this off. And yeah, maybe also impress Len, too. 

❄️

Len watched the speedster weave through the crowd, some of the nearest attendees giving him more room after having noticed him on Len’s arm. It was a haughty gamble to send Barry off on his own to try his hand at pickpocketing or otherwise obtaining a keycard, but—oddly—Len felt confident in him. Either he’d succeed impressively, or fail impressively; either outcome promised Len’s evening was just going to get more interesting.

Granted, he had a preference for the outcome that didn’t involve invoking his wrath and a few favors he was owed, but the game with the speedster was far more exciting than the familiar criminal waltz. It had been for some time, and countless aspects of the evening were reminding him of it.

He’d achieved the coveted notoriety to become nigh-untouchable in the world he’d had to claw his way up in, and Len was unsettled to find he didn’t particularly enjoy it. The thrill had lost its lustre somewhere between a timeship and a man-shaped lightning storm.

Like a new sense, Len’s attention roved the room lazily, but he still _felt_ where Barry was behind him (at a slight leftward oblique, a 137-degree turn from where Len was facing). 

Ascending the stairs on one side of the circular stage, Santini Junior’s latest lady hoisted a cordless microphone and the crowd’s din quieted. Len listened to her simpering patter with half an ear, the opening lines welcoming them to the auction, auspicious tidings, horrid jokes; clearly, the woman fancied herself a stage personality, and singled out a few potential connections in the crowd with favorable flutters of her false lashes.

Len’s disinterest in the opening permitted him more time to keep paying attention to the rest of the room around him; he identified at least three more potential avenues to obtain a keycard if Barry was unsuccessful. Part of him was tempted to take the advantage immediately, not waste time and give them a back-up. 

But where was the fun in that?

Len doesn’t fan himself with the paddle as some of the other attendees do, instead twisting it in a lazy twirl between his fingers and thumb. A little spin in one direction, then rolling it back. 

Spin, roll.

Spin, roll.

Spin.

Roll.

It had been four minutes; reasonable enough time to wait before he glanced over his shoulder to check in on the speedster.

Turned slightly, Len’s eye found Barry in conversation with one of the security personnel. Len immediately took stock of his every trait, committed them to memory.

Barry had his head thrown back in a full-body laugh that was only slightly subdued from his usual bright mirth, and Len stopped the flare of non-mission-essential emotions before they pushed past the back of his throat. Len caught sight of the speedster pressing a hand to the security guard’s chest and wrenched his attention back toward the stage.

That sense for where Barry was behind him had grown from a passive awareness to a demanding itch. 

Len kept himself facing toward where the would-be-starlet on stage had finally handed the microphone off to a man whose accent slid out of a British back alley, his description of the first lot proclaiming it to be reclaimed CCPD seizures from a well-known drug bust. A large pair of sleek silver briefcases were placed onto a little table that’s been set on the stage, and Santini’s starlet attempted her best Vanna White impersonation with a glass bottle of Coke.

The cheeky choice of showcase method was amusing enough that Len held in a low chuckle.

Bidding got underway, and Len was about to turn to check on Barry again when the speedster reappeared at his side, announcing his presence with the gentle shoulder-bump he’s taken to doing, two glasses of champagne in hand and wearing an expression Len can only describe as ‘smug.’

Taking the glass Barry offered, Len eyed the speedster as he sipped.

Barry only turned his attention toward the stage, tipping his own glass back to drink. When he lowered it, the speedster’s lips were still lifted in satisfaction.

Len waited, curiosity warring with the contrarian part of him who refused to have to ask. If it’s a little childish that he shifts his weight, flipping the paddle up to partially block his view of the speedster, he’ll not admit it to himself.

After nearly another full minute, Barry finally asked, “How long did I take?”

“Eight minutes and twenty-three seconds,” Len replied after allowing for a pause while the assembled crowd gave applause to the first successfully-won lot of the evening.

Len doesn’t have to be looking at Barry to know he’s turned that megawatt smile on again. It’s for the best, probably; he’d bask in it too much right now.

“Cool,” Barry said, like it was the best inside joke he’d ever shared, and Len just rolled his eyes.

When Len still didn’t rise to the bait of asking, Barry leaned in closer, nearly pressed from shoulder to hip along Len’s side. “You gonna buy something?”

“Do I need to?”

“I mean, if you wanna, but I figure you’d rather be doing something more fun than sniping bids,” Barry suggested, and Len suspected the speedster had no idea how very correct he was. Len’s preference just had nothing to do with their little mission and everything to do with how the pleasant tickle of warm breath against his neck threatened to snap Len’s composure.

“Such as?” Len’s question was low and even, gaze fixed on the stage though his focus was right beside him.

“C’mon, Len,” Barry hissed excitedly, like he could barely contain the giddy pride in his own success. It should have been annoying, but instead raced through Len with something like vicarious pride.

Len finally acquiesced, lowering the paddle to tuck against his chest as he arched a brow. “If you insist.”

Barry looked to be about to grab hold of Len’s arm again, ostensibly to drag him off for what Len is certain the crowd will read as an overeager bid of a different, more illicit sort. Using the paddle, Len interrupted the speedster with a quick tap on the arm. “After five more lots,” Len explained lowly, “there are fifty-two lots in the bunch, and we needn’t be so eager to miss them.”

Barry tipped his head in a nod acknowledging the sense in that, shuffling to stand a little more comfortably. 

The companionable silence that fell between them felt to be gaining a charge with each new lot as the bidding period came and went, more polite applause after each closure like a countdown. One of them actually piqued Len’s interest: a private box at the symphony orchestra. The sudden clench of bitter reminiscence was overrun by sentimentality and an old soul-deep wound finds soothing in the idea that the ownership of such a thing could be.

A few of the crowd opened bidding low, and after allowing it to continue for a few rounds, Len raised his paddle with a wordless flourish. The auctioneer half-stumbled over acknowledging _‘Mister Snart,’_ but his invitation for any further bids was met with an unmoving hush. The auctioneer eagerly announced his win, and the polite applause was a little louder, if forced. 

Len snorted; how boring.

Still; the pleased sentimental potential settled in his chest, and his satisfaction at the win was nothing compared to thinking of what it could become.

He could feel Barry’s attention on him again, but Len didn’t acknowledge it.

Halfway through the bidding on the next item, Len half-turned. “Air, now,” he commanded, still low but loud enough that the people nearest might overhear. Barry blinked and followed close as Len strode toward the nearest set of double doors (the ones where Barry’s security guard mark _wasn’t_ ), and felt gratified that the staff opened them before he had to say a word. Eyes followed them, but other people did not.

He led Barry along the nearest stretch of deck along the port side, stepping into a blind spot just beyond the angle of what he knew the security cameras could cover. With his champagne glass still mostly-full, Len leaned against the bulkhead and finally leveled his attention at the speedster, watching as Barry gingerly pressed his shoulder into the cool metal to similarly fit out of the security feed’s range.

Len tucked the handle of his paddle into the curl of a finger against his glass, then held out his free hand expectantly between them.

Barry looked down at it, brows rising, “What?”

Len frowned slightly. “Really, Scarlet? Don’t play dumb. Hand over the keycard.”

Instead of doing as he asked, Barry blinked those wide guileless eyes, “I don’t have it.”

 _Then why had he_ — Before the demand for an explanation hissed free from the thief, Barry started grinning.

He pointed at Len’s pocket, “ _You_ already have it.”

Len’s expression tightened, and the speedster only looked _more_ delighted as the thief’s expectant hand instead went to search the pocket Barry indicated, fingers sliding in to find a thin rectangle of plastic. Pulling the keycard free, Len examined it, then narrowed his eyes on Barry once more.

Barry, who looked to be about to jump out of his own skin because he could hardly contain his joy because not only had he pickpocketed the guard, but he’d planted it on Len.

And Len _hadn’t noticed_.

A complicated knot of things tugged and tightened and swung through Len’s chest. 

He shouldn’t have been so unobservant.

It had been _years_ since someone had dared something so brazen, and longer still since the last time someone had _succeeded_.

But here was Barry Allen, the Flash, who had managed to do it without even using his powers.

Looking at Len like it was the best thing he’d done all day.

Len should be furious, concerned, should feel like he’s slipping, should cut Barry down with the sharpness of his tongue and get the fuck out of this situation.

Instead, Len found it impossible to fight back a smile as his genuine, delighted laugh softened the silence around them, and he became a little more dangerously fond of the speedster.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As before, unbeta'd, may the errors not detract from your enjoyment
> 
> and thank you to everyone commenting as I post this; I can't say how delighted I am every time I see that someone's taken a moment to react to what I've written, it's absolutely making my day ♥

Barry had just begun worrying that he might’ve gone a step too far when Len’s concentrated scrutiny of the keycard melted into a beautiful, delighted laugh.

“You truly never fail to impress me, Barry,” Len shook his head, smiling as he tucked the card back into his pocket.

“You think I’m impressive, huh?” Barry beamed, brows bouncing with barely-contained mirth.

“Impressively foolish, yes,” the thief allowed, though he said it like it was a compliment. His gaze was downcast again, but the smile lingering on his features was handsomely soft.

Not for the first time that evening, Barry’s attention lingered on Len’s mouth and he had to remind himself to focus.

“How did you manage to distract him?” Len asked, perhaps inadvertently outmaneuvering Barry’s want to follow-up on how else he found the speedster impressive.

“Oh, Jeff? The guard?” Barry asked, though it was clear that’s precisely who Len was referring to. At the tilt of the thief’s brow in silent affirmation, Barry continued. “Well, he wasn’t much for chatting at first but then I noticed the tie he had on _wasn’t_ just solid black. It had this really subtle print of the Empire emblem! Y’know, from Star Wars?”

The amused upward tilt of Len’s smile and momentary arched brow answered that yes, he knew Star Wars.

“I mean, I’m more a Rebel guy myself, but it was like I flipped a switch and he got all excited because nobody else had ever noticed it before, which is just _sad_ but I kinda dig the stealth nerdy stuff.”

Len hadn’t looked away, just continued to watch Barry with that rare, genuine smile that suddenly filled the silence as the speedster realized he’d been on the verge of tipping over into the babble he was prone to. But if he wasn’t talking, it just meant Barry was gonna keep being painfully obvious and just _staring_ at the thief who still looked amazing even in the awful fluorescent light, and kept laughing like he knew the sound was fast-becoming one of Barry’s favorite things.

“So you’re telling me,” Len said before Barry could fumble any more words together, “you managed to swipe the keycard because you talked nerdy to him?”

A pleased laugh runs away with Barry’s breath, taking off across the water as he tilts against the cool metal bulkhead for support. When he’s recovered enough from the humor to shake his head at the thief, Len is still regarding him with that look Barry can still only fit into thinking of as _fond_.

“I guess so,” Barry finally answered, shrugging as he offered a boyish grin. “Worked, didn’t it?”

Len hummed, “Seems that’s not the only thing that worked. But I’ll stroke my ego later about having taught you so well. Who knew you had such a knack for honeypotting?”

Barry nearly choked on his own spit, “I didn’t—I wasn’t _honeypotting_ that guy!”

Len pushed away from his lean enough to reach toward Barry’s jacket, and the speedster froze as the thief tugged and arranged the fabric of first the blazer, then the thin deep v-neck shirt beneath. “Of course you weren’t,” Len observed sardonically, though his attention was on whatever he was doing with Barry’s clothes.

Which. Uh.

“I really wasn’t though?” Barry tried again, hating that he had to swallow around the unexpected lump in his throat because _what was Len doing_.

The thief briefly glanced up to level a dubious look at Barry, though seemed satisfied enough with his ministrations that he took a half-step back and surveyed the speedster. “And here I thought you’d been paying attention in our lesson yesterday.”

Barry’s brows rose, because what did _that_ mean? “I... uh... I was?”

Apparently he wasn’t connecting whatever dots the thief was laying out, and Len just rolled his eyes. “Nevermind. Let’s go put your ill-gotten gains to use, shall we?”

Barry looked down at himself, at how his jacket and shirt now hung askew. “And I just lost a fight with a wind machine because...?”

Len, who had been mid-step away from his corner, paused and tilted his head at Barry with a calculating look as he gestured with the flick of a long finger. “Fair point. Your hair should be messier too, I think.”

“I—what?” Barry felt like he missed a very important turn somewhere along the way.

Whatever the thief saw in him earned the gust of an exasperated sigh. “Really, Barry, do you need me to spell out for you the efficacy of visual storytelling? We disappear into a secluded spot, duck out of sight of the cameras, re-appear a few minutes later with your nice suit in disarray?”

Barry had realized what Len was going for just as he began explaining it (and explaining far more kindly than he probably would have with someone else, part of Barry registers), and _yeah_ it makes sense. Plenty of sense. Follows suit with how he’d been all-but-plastered to Len’s side like the thief was his lifeline since that Alexa woman had found Barry and looked at him like he was one of the hors d'oeuvres.

Jump-starting his mouth, Barry was _really_ missing having the added buffer of his speed to help keep on top of processing things. Not that he tried to rely on it often, but he was feeling an awful lot like he’d spent half the night just staring dumbly at the ridiculously alluring thief he had no business mooning over. Who he now couldn’t stop thinking about running those clever, long fingers through his hair, tugging _just right_ and—

Barry scrubbed his hands through his hair like he was on a mission, far more roughly than he probably needed to. There was no art to it, but he hoped it would help drag his mind out of the gutter. “That work?”

Len’s brows drew together as he regarded the speedster, and Barry’s breath stuck in his chest as the thief reached out and delicately flicked at some part of his unruly mess of hair. He barely felt it, but the slight sensation was enough that if Len did any more, Barry was gonna be in _trouble._

“It’ll do,” Len allowed, and Barry was torn between relieved and ravenous.

“Wait, what about you?” Barry blurted, trying to latch onto some thread to shift focus away from himself.

Len snorted, smirking at the speedster in a way that was much closer to the persona he was accustomed to. “What about me?”

“Shouldn’t you—y’know, mess up your shirt a little bit too?” Barry didn’t dare reach to do for the thief what Len had done to his clothes; that, too, would be trouble.

A short laugh from the thief had his full attention focused on the speedster again, his voice dipping low. “Would you be so rough with me, Barry?”

Shit.

Barry had several answers to that, none of which were safe to actually say out loud. 

Because, maybe. Maybe he would be.

But he’d just as likely be gentle, too.

Would Len like that?

Would Len want him to—

Barry takes refuge in a more exaggerated shrug and eyeroll than is necessary, diverting his nerves into a little laugh. “Can’t blame you if you don’t wanna mess up the suit. By the way, _please_ don’t tell me how much these cost. We’re going to the third door down thataway, right?”

Pointing in the direction he recalled one of the access points being, Barry resettled his focus on why they were here instead of wondering how much effort it would take to get Len visibly rumpled.

It seemed the thief had no qualms in getting back to the mission at hand either. “Exactly right. Let’s go, Scarlet.”

Barry was grateful the thief made a quick turn and strode off, his use of the nickname hitting Barry again as it had every time this evening more and more like an endearment. Probably shouldn’t, but it still sent a little rush through him every time.

_Great job, Barry; only you could be on a mission involving mobsters and dangerous tech, but make the most challenging part of it all about how much you wanna get in Captain Cold’s pants._

As the thief led the way further down the port side of the ship’s walkway, Barry hoped the chill night air would help calm down some of the blush heating his face.

❄️

Len paused outside one of the better access doors; according to the schematics, there were fewer potential obstacles between this entry and his best guess at where the auction items were being kept. Even if his guess was wrong, it still opened onto access for most everything else they’d need to get to relatively quickly.

Pulling the card out of his pocket, Len tapped it against the access panel and was rewarded with a pleasant beep as the indicator turned green, soft _thunk_ of its bolt sliding open. With his hand on the door, Len paused to award the speedster with a pleased look; he didn’t want to fluff Barry’s ego any further, but he had to acknowledge the success at least a little.

Barry looked to still be fighting down a blush, which Len’s silent praise seemed to help reignite; that, too, felt like a success.

Once inside, the heavy metal door closed behind them with an overloud reverberation; both men went still and anticipatory. When no indication came that their entry gained unwanted attention, Len proceeded through the cramped hall, continuing to lead.

“So, uh,” Barry began to ask from behind him in a voice just above a whisper, and Len didn’t have to see the speedster’s face to envision the expression there. “Is _everyone_ at this thing thinking I’m... and you’re…”

Len momentarily closed his eyes, minutely shaking his head; of all the things for Barry to get hung up on. “Are you so concerned about the esteem of the city’s criminal underworld?”

“I mean, kinda? Didn’t we figure there was probably at least one person doing deep undercover stuff? Even without that, I wouldn’t be surprised if it makes precinct gossip within the week.”

Len continued following his mental layout of the schematics, moving as slowly and silently as his leather wingtip shoes would allow. It’s good he’s used to splitting the difference between his focus and distractions; there’s something to the note of worry in Barry’s voice that grates against him, felt like something he had no right to take insult at but does nonetheless. 

_Wouldn’t want to have your spotless star CSI career stained by association._

“Don’t worry, Allen, I’ll make sure to disabuse the rumor mill of circulating any salacious details that might besmirch your good name,” Len bit out, and there’s more seething chill to it than he knows is necessary.

A hand fell on his shoulder, and it’s only because he knows it’s Barry’s that Len doesn’t lash out; instead, he stilled and stiffened, waiting. Venomous things started to curl through his mouth, but he clenched his teeth to hold them in, saving it for whatever platitudes the speedster had. His right hand itched to reach for his cold gun, his left flexed a little tighter around the stem of his still-fizzing glass of champagne and the damn bidding paddle.

“Are you really not worried about it?” Barry asked, and there was apparently just enough room in the narrow corridor that Barry could sidle around until those big hazel eyes were ducked into Len’s line of sight.

Cruelty sharpened on Len’s tongue, shoring up his defenses, but Barry continued.

“I mean, I know you’re basically an untouchable big crime kingpin as far as they’re all concerned, but it’s really not gonna give you any problems?”

Len’s defensive lashing faltered, gaze narrowing on the speedster. “Me?”

Barry blinked, “Yeah, I guess… maybe it’s stupid of me, but it’s not gonna give you any trouble keeping up appearances or give people a reason to target you, right?”

Brow drawing tighter, Len could only ask for clarification, “You’re concerned our implied tryst would cause problems for _me_?”

“Would it?” Barry asked, growing a little more tense and searching Len’s features for some further indication to help answer him.

Len closed his eyes, dragged in a breath, and steadied himself; pushed down on the roiling defense mechanisms that had been ready to verbally eviscerate the speedster. He’d somehow, once again, made the mistake of underestimating Barry Allen and his boundless damn bleeding heart.

Still.

Len’s expression smoothed into something inscrutable, gaze calculating as it returned to the other man. “Shouldn’t you be concerned about it causing problems for you?”

Barry blinked, then rolled his shoulders in a shrug. “Not really? We have like sixteen cover stories for stuff like this, though Joe might talk my ear off about it,” he laughed softly, but then seemed to catch up to their exchange, those big expressive brows tugging together in the shape of concern all over again. “Wait, did you think—”

Len waved his free hand, dismissing wherever that sentence was headed. “Doesn’t matter. Eyes on the prize, Scarlet,” he turned away, leading down the next corridor. He allowed himself a private moment of enjoying, once again, that Barry’s concern extended so far for him.

**⚡️**

The speedster followed as Len took up the lead once again, conversation stalling until they reached the next door. Barry was still a little troubled by the oddly-tense exchange, trying to piece together what he’d misinterpreted.

_Stop overcomplicating things, Barry._

Len had stopped and was examining a panel beside the door they needed to get through. Peeking over his shoulder, Barry felt a moment of concern; it wasn’t the same as the keycard interface. Not by a long shot. This one had what looked like a biometric access pad and a small alphanumeric button panel behind a little door.

“Any chance the keycard works on that too?” Barry asked, sidling around to keep an eye on their surroundings while still being able to see most of what the thief was doing.

Len hummed, his attention unwavering from the panel. “Not as such, but we don’t need the keycard for this. Here,” he held the bidding paddle out toward Barry and asked almost playfully, “hold onto this for me, would you?”

Barry took the paddle, but reached back out expectantly with his other hand, “Want me to hold your drink too?”

He’d thought it a little odd that the thief had held onto his still-mostly-full glass of champagne (Barry had set his down on their way out of the ballroom), but hadn’t wanted to comment on it.

Len’s attention cut toward Barry for a moment, smirk lifting. “That’s sweet, but no. I’m about to put it to use.”

“Yeah?”

Barry’s curiosity was genuine, but he also wasn’t about to pass up another opportunity to encourage Len to show off a little. One thing he’d become increasingly aware of was not only that Len was _really damn good_ at the whole thieving thing and all that entailed, but that he clearly enjoyed talking about it. There’s a little showmanship to it, sure, but Len explained it with the same passion Barry always found enthralling from anyone talking about something they enjoyed doing. 

It had surprised Barry that the lawbreaking part of it was more of a technicality; the approach Len took was akin to tech pentesters and troubleshooting and anyone else whose specialization involved keen observation and tactical contingency with a side of understanding human behavior. He’d happily listened and encouraged every bit of the process Len had shared during their planning; doing so again now was almost reflexive for the speedster.

Len awarded him with another momentary slide of attention, clearly pleased, then began prying open part of the security access panel. “One unique thing about designing anything intended for nautical use is that, by and large, it needs to be waterproof.”

Barry watched as the long, deft fingers of one hand methodically worked at the panel, and he was glad it was a situation where he didn’t need any excuse to explain his staring.

“The outer security all has to be seaworthy, as do many of the secondary hatches just past the first exterior door. Can’t malfunction if it gets wet,” Len continued explaining, pulling open a portion of the panel that he held at an angle. “But what if a vessel starts taking on water? Especially a passenger pleasure vessel?”

Len looked toward Barry, inviting an answer as he nodded toward the paddle in Barry’s hand and instructed, “Wedge that into the gap at the top-left.”

Barry did so as he considered the question, using the thin taper at the edge of the paddle to slide into the gap and angling it until it held the panel open as much as possible. At the thief’s soft proclamation of, " _good_ ,” Barry’s gaze moved away from the poised splay of Len’s fingers to regard the thief’s attention. “Seems bad if there’s not some sort of system to detect if there’s water where there shouldn’t be. If all the doors stay closed, the pressure would probably end up trapping people if there wasn’t a good way to equalize things.”

The thief’s smile grew to something more genuine, delighted; _fuck_ he was gorgeous, and Barry couldn’t help but mirror it a little when Len looked at him like that.

“ _Exactly_ ,” Len affirmed, attention lingering on the speedster for a moment longer before he turned back to the panel. He reached into the wedged-open gap and gently tugged up a length of wires until a little circuit board with a few soldered-on components emerged. With a last look toward Barry, Len lifted the device on its length of wires out as far as it would come, then dropped it into his glass of champagne.

“Thirty-five seconds before it triggers the lock override to open,” Len explained, clearly pleased with himself.

Barry huffed a soft laugh, grinning wide. “You’re something else,” he said, because it was the safest compliment he could pay without getting too honest, too soft, too lots-of-other-things while he admired the thief.

Len tilted his head in slight acknowledgment, but said nothing as his attention lingered on Barry.

The thirty-five seconds it took for the door mechanism’s override to trigger were spent in silence, and Barry wasn’t sure how to describe the way it felt like the atmosphere had shifted around him. 

_We really make a good team. I wonder if he thinks so, too?_

It was almost jarring when the panel beeped—overloud with both of them leaning right beside it—and Barry took it as his cue to take a half-step back. Len watched him, and Barry wanted very much to know what the thief was thinking.

Chewing on the inside of his cheek, Barry glanced around the narrow corridor as Len got the door open, and by the time his attention returned to the thief, he watched as Len tugged the bidding paddle free and snapped the panel back into place as if it had never been disturbed. Tucking the paddle into his jacket’s interior pocket, Len gestured with his champagne glass (slightly-less-full now, but he still carried the thing) toward the doorway. “After you,” Len invited.

Barry tilted a gracious (if exaggerated) nod at the thief and proceeded further into the yacht’s interior. The metal flooring had been carpeted here; the walls and ceiling were also given an extra layer of design, fluorescent lights replaced by inviting ambient glows that aided in making the smaller spaces feel decadent. Something about it reminded Barry a little of Earth-2, and he tucked his hands into his pockets to resist the want to run his fingers over the raised relief of lines sculpted into the walls.

Len flicked open a handkerchief and walked over to a little sink, dumping out the contents of his champagne glass before rinsing and wiping it clean of any fingerprints, then leaving it there. Barry just watched him silently, admiring yet another fastidiously-addressed detail.

The narrow hallways gave way to larger, more spacious floorplans; they passed through a lounge filled with plush furniture with its own small bar tucked against a wall, then proceeded through a larger space with locked cabinets holding a small library of books and other media, flatscreen TV on the wall surrounded by more low seating. All of it was obviously expensive, and none of it looked like it had ever been touched or used.

“Feels like nobody’s ever even been in here,” Barry observed softly, falling into step behind Len again as the thief navigated them toward the storage room where he suspected the auction items were kept. “Feels… I dunno, wasteful? Ungrateful, maybe? It’s weird,” Barry trailed off, thinking aloud.

“Santini doesn’t spend money smartly, he throws it around to make a point. Not usually the one he thinks he is, but,” Len rolled a shoulder in a shrug. “He’s had his life handed down through the dons, doesn’t see this—” Len rolled his wrist in a broad gesture to the space around them ”—as anything more than accessorizing.”

Barry’s mouth twisted as he made an effort to fight down all the discomfort that sent through him. He nearly missed Len’s next words.

“He doesn’t see this like we do,” the thief said a little more softly, his gait only slowing slightly as he continued to lead. 

Barry wanted to ask what he meant, turning the corner after him into another lounge space. 

“You still think there’s only gonna be the one guard?” Barry asked, recognizing that they were getting close to the storage room as Len slowed their approach. Barry was doing his best to remain quiet, too.

Len hummed an affirmative, his attention still roving ahead. “Santini spends his personnel the same way he does his money; all about appearances. Standing on a door means they’re not out showing off for the crowd.”

Barry nodded; it made sense, and unfortunately just made him much more certain he didn’t have to meet the guy to know he really didn’t like Santini.

The next part of the plan called for them to find one of the circuit breaker boxes, which was just down the hall and around the corner from the storage room entry they needed. One good thing about the nature of shipboard layout was that it relied on more halls and angles than allowed for open floorplans. 

Crossing to a stretch of wall that was less a room and more an alcove with a little divan shoved into it, Len wasted no time in feeling around the edges of a large abstract painting. Gently lifting it, he slid it down to lean behind the divan, revealing the breaker box. Just where the plans showed it would be.

“Ready?” Len prompted, glancing over his shoulder at the speedster with an excited glint in his eye.

Barry grinned, “Yeah, let’s—”

He froze at the sound of heavy footsteps approaching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_G A SP_**  
>  A CLIFFHANGER
> 
> ... okay look, this chapter was originally much longer, but I decided to cut it into two because in case the UST didn't give it away, the tease of suspense is delicious.
> 
> Promise the next chapter will be worth it ;)


	7. Chapter 7

Len registered the sound of footfalls just as Barry went still, panic replacing the speedster’s eager cockiness.

A spool of scenarios unwound;

The footsteps were approaching from the direction of the storage room, most likely belonging to the single guard stationed outside. The sound was muffled by the carpet, but indicated the owner was at least 250 pounds.

A takedown might work if both he and Barry were coordinated, but while Len knew the speedster had some hand-to-hand experience, he wasn’t certain what Barry’s skill level was sans-speed. Instructing Barry would take twenty-three seconds _if_ the speedster paid attention and didn’t interrupt. 

Too long. Too unpredictable.

They could rush back the way they came, ducking into one of the two side rooms nearest, but it further risked being spotted, or at least heard. Would almost certainly result in the guard finding them, and they’d have to either incapacitate or otherwise subdue the guard from alerting others. Also too unpredictable.

Disabling the dampener device on Barry’s wrist to permit him to use his speed was also out of the question; the stolen Mercury Labs tech was almost certainly active and in use (Alexa would have insisted, even if Santini were too foolish to do so). Not only would Barry still be unable to use his abilities, he’d likely set the damn thing off and bring down more unwanted attention. 

Len could bribe the man; he’d brought cash for the express purpose of doing so, and while it was a more crude tactic, he doubted anyone Santini stationed on door duty was among his favored flunkies. Barry had been excellent about following Len’s lead all night, and it was likely he’d do so again if Len acted swiftly enough. While still unpredictable, it was also the least-hostile, easiest to de-escalate (or, if need be, escalate).

A few other possibilities came and went, but bribery was the safest, most reliably predictable choice. Decided, Len gripped and pulled Barry’s shoulder nearer as he took a step back, hissing low and soft, “Barry, I’m going to—”

**⚡️**

Without his speed, Barry could only move and think as fast as anyone else; he’s no slouch, but he knew Len saw the sudden panic in his features. Fortunately, the thief’s expression sharpened into one of clear intent.

_He’ll think of something. But, shit, I can’t just not try to think of something, too. Think, Barry…_

Powers were out, and it wasn’t like he was about to fistfight some thug. Len might, though, if he didn’t think of anything else. Okay. Maybe be ready to fight? He’d done hand-to-hand training with Oliver; he wasn’t great at it, but he could hold his own if he had to. Mostly.

_What happens in the movies, what would the Leverage crew do... Pretty sure neither of us is Eliot in this scenario, so fighting may be bad. Talk? Would talking work?_

Barry racked his brain for the best examples he knew of, thanks to tv shows and movies and a few video games. 

The footsteps continued coming closer. _Shit_.

Len grabbed his shoulder just as Barry remembered the thief’s words about “the efficacy of visual storytelling” and the implication Barry’s thoughts had snagged on, then landed on a tactic that was as absurd as it was appealing and, very possibly, could work. Len was looking at him with a determined set to his features, and then guiding Barry to step forward as the thief took a step back toward the divan.

_Ohmygod, he’s thinking the same thing I am, ohhkayfuck we’re really gonna do this, shit, okay, it’s fine, just. Follow his lead, Barry._

Len’s sharp gaze held Barry’s, voice dropped low enough that only Barry could hear. “Barry, I’m going to—”

Barry jerked his head in a nod, carrying the momentum forward as he followed the initial pull on his shoulder, reaching to wrap one arm high around the back of Len’s neck as his other hand rose to steadily hold the thief’s opposite cheek. Len sucked in a breath, eyes widening as the back of his knee hit the divan’s cushion and he half-tripped, half-sat down a little ungracefully. Was that too hard? Shit, can’t worry about that now. They were already off the plan’s rails, right? 

Barry leaned down, one knee propped on the cushions to hold him up as he pressed closer into the thief’s space, and he felt Len’s hand make contact with his thigh, grip sudden and just right. Len’s expression had gone from wide-eyed to calculating again, entirely focused on the speedster. Ever-so-slightly, his brows rose, lips parting, gaze falling to Barry’s mouth.

_Please let this be okay_.

Leaning in, the sound of approaching footsteps nearly drowned out by the hammering of his pulse, Barry closed his eyes.

Hoped.

And kissed Len.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/191331361@N08/50709310647/in/dateposted-public/)

The hand on his thigh tightened, and the lips against his own remained still for a long breath, then two—Barry’s mind a litany of too much to find anything coherent—

Then Len’s lips moved, tilted, parted, _pressed_ , and Barry felt Len’s other hand rise to the back of his neck. Those long fingers held for just a moment, then wound up and into his hair, threading through enough to get a gentle grip and, with just the right amount of force, _pulled_.

Barry’s mouth opened on the soft moan he tried to hold back, muffled it against Len’s lips, but he couldn’t help but want to follow the direction of where Len’s hand in his hair guided. He folded himself down further to rest more fully on Len’s lap even though their legs were an awkward tangle, partially atop the divan, partially leveraging from the floor. Didn’t matter. Fuck, _nothing else_ mattered when he felt the inviting glide of Len’s tongue against his lips, warm hand sliding up from his thigh to command his hip come _closer_ — _god,_ he was _kissing Len_ and it felt—

“Who the fuck? Hey!” 

An unfamiliar gruff voice shattered the momentary blissful haze, and when Barry instinctually wanted to jump back, Len’s hand in his hair _held him_ there ( _fuck_ ) as the thief continued lazily plundering Barry’s mouth like he intended to steal the very breath from his lungs.

“ _Hey_ , lovebirds, you two ain’t allowed back here, I’m gonna need—”

Len finally pulled away (gently tugged Barry’s head back with that hand in his hair _just so_ ), dragging Barry’s lower lip in his teeth and summoning a soft gasp out of the speedster as he blinked his eyes open. Len’s gorgeous gray-blue was waiting to greet him when his vision swam back into focus. Len’s brows rose ever-so-slightly, then he was loosening his hold on Barry’s hair but not releasing him entirely as his fingers began tracing gentle paths across his scalp in languid strokes.

“Is there a reason you’re interrupting me?” Len asked, his voice a sharp drawl.

Clearly, the guard recognized the thief, and had stopped short. “M—Mister Snart, no sir, I—”

“Then you’ll be _un_ -interrupting me,” Len snapped.

Barry turned his head enough to glance at the man beside them, Len’s fingers in his hair guiding him to lean in closer to press his forehead to the thief’s skin. The scent of him made Barry’s eyes fall shut again, subtle and rich like an evergreen forest at winter, the enticing decadence of something almost like leather but more spiced and unlike anything the speedster knew how to identify. He had to remind himself to pay attention to the guard, prying his eyes open again to watch him, trying to remain alert if Len’s ruse didn’t pan out.

The guard looked like a prizefighter, his ill-fitting suit erring on the size of tent-like to fit around the bulk of his barrel chest and arms Barry was sure were as big around as the speedster’s own legs. He’d clearly been reaching for his weapon, but had stalled and frozen when he realized who he was addressing. The big man was looking at Len like a frightened kid who’d just met the monster under their bed. Clearly trying to figure out how to best confront the situation, the man was stammering through an apologetic explanation.

“Yeah, yessir but there’s—Mister Santini, he expects I gotta ensure there’s nobody down here or gettin into places he don’t want ‘em, and—”

“And you’re doing a stellar job of it,” Len cut him off smoothly, “there _is_ nobody down here.”

Len held the man’s attention for another tense moment, then tilted back his chin as his chest rose and filled on a drawn-out inhale. 

The hand in Barry’s hair slid down, fingers tracing behind his ear until they gathered under his chin and guided with a slight pressure. “Up,” Len instructed Barry softly, and the speedster moved languidly (though he didn’t want to, wanted so very much to stay right where he was) to get up off the thief’s lap to stand. Len followed him smoothly, his hand trailing from Barry’s chin and down his chest, then took up residence in a possessive hold on the speedster’s side. Len was close, _so close_ , had risen to stand so they were angled toward each other and Barry needed only lean in if he wanted to recapture him in a kiss (and he very much wanted to, _ached_ to). Barry swallowed around doing or saying anything else, feeling like his entire body was at once too tense, too hot, too cold, too _much_ but he didn’t want to risk being a distraction. 

The guard was taller and bulkier than Len by far, but it was clear the thief's presence towered over the other man with ease.

“What’s your name?” Len asked the guard as his hand at Barry’s side wandered lazily over the speedster’s flank. Barry only just suppressed a shiver, fingers twitching into fists to stop himself from fidgeting. From touching _back_.

“Chris, sir,” the guard answered quickly.

“Are you a smoker, Chris?”

“I’m. Uh, I oughta quit, but yessir, helps pass the time,” he explained, and to his credit, his response was even.

“I’d say you’re due for a nice ten-minute smoke break, wouldn’t you?” Len purred invitingly, “Just outside, still by the main access door to make sure nobody gets in or out without you knowing so you’re right on post just like you’re supposed to be, of course.”

Chris nodded, then remembered to use his words. “I, uh, yessir. Nearest door’s pretty loud. In case anyone’s comin or goin.” He then seemed to realize the inadvertent innuendo in his words and his blush was visible even through the thick growth of his beard.

Len tilted his head, corner of his smirk lifting slightly. “Good man. Oh, and—” Len’s hand rose with the ease of not being concerned that his movement might be mistaken for retrieving a weapon, fingers disappearing beneath the fall of his jacket’s lapel to slide into an inner pocket, “—here.” He produced his prize with a flourish, the unmistakable shape and color of neatly-folded green bills held in a silver money clip. Barry briefly caught sight of the light glittering off of small white stones embedded in the silver in the unmistakable shape of a snowflake.

Barry fought down the sudden fond humor, because of _course_ Len would have custom gaudy money clips; no doubt those were real diamonds, too.

“You should consider finding yourself a new hobby. Smoking is terrible for the health, and it’d be a shame to lose another capable man to it,” Len said as he tucked the cash into one of the pockets of Chris’s jacket. 

“Yes sir, Mister Snart, you’re right, sir, thank you, sir,” Chris nodded again, big hand going to cover his pocket like it contained a precious secret (which, well, it may as well have).

Len dipped his chin in a slow nod, “Enjoy your break, Chris.”

Taking that as his cue, the big man hunched into something that was an awkwardly bobbed half-nod, half-bow, muttering his thanks and several more _‘sirs’_ before his heavy gait disappeared down the hallway at a rapid pace.

Barry remained unmoving, Len’s hand against his side like an anchor that held time still around them. For a long moment, breathing shallow, they both just listened to the retreating sound of footsteps until they heard the heavy metallic creak of a door opening, then clanging shut.

Barry swallowed.

Len’s hand against his side gave a brief squeeze, then slid away, and Barry hated that it suddenly sent a wash of renewed excitement and panic and concern and cold ( _hah, the horrible irony_ ) racing through him. 

Barry’s lips had barely parted around words he was still trying to find when Len’s voice murmured, “Time’s wasting,” still low and _close_. “Let’s go, Barry.”

Len lingered in Barry’s space only a second longer, then turned away to replace the painting he’d removed from the wall to access the circuit breaker (didn’t need the diversion any more). Barry remained rooted to the spot doing his best to kickstart his brain, beginning with reminding his lungs how to work.

He didn’t have time to worry about all the things racing through his head, he needed to prioritize the reason they were here instead of getting hung up on how he’d just _kissed Len_ and the thief had kissed him _back_ like he’d wanted it just as much as Barry had.

Like Barry wanted to again. And more, _god_ so much more than just kissing.

“Not what I was going for, but it worked out all the same,” Len broke through the silence, adjusting the painting scrutinously.

_Shit._ _What?! S H I T._

“ _What_ ,” Barry’s voice emerged like it was fighting past his vocal cords so he reiterates flatly, “What _were_ you going for?”

Len didn’t look at him as he breezed past the speedster, headed toward the storage room. “Oh, I was just going to bribe him. Like I said,” the thief rolled his wrist in a gracefully dismissive gesture, “still worked out. Nice job, much more authentic cover than what I was thinking.”

Numbness washed through Barry, followed swiftly by his best attempt to reign in the crash of everything else.

 _He wasn’t trying to signal doing that when he pulled me toward him, I’m an idiot. Oh, god, I basically just shoved him down and kissed him without even asking if that was okay. I have to apologize, I have to_ —

Barry nearly walked into Len where the thief had half-turned toward the speedster, watching him. One of those deft hands rose to catch on Barry’s shoulder, a brief touch that slid to fuss at the lapel of Barry’s still-disheveled collar.

“I can _hear_ those gears turning. It’s fine, Scarlet. Get your head in the game and save the rest for later,” he said, and it was a tone Barry wasn’t used to hearing from the thief. Somewhere between kind and commanding, and Barry nodded though he couldn’t quite meet Len’s eyes. The thief gave Barry’s collar one last tug, something the speedster desperately hoped was meant to be as reassuring as he wanted it to be, then turned toward their goal.

Following Len toward the storage room, Barry did his best to focus on the mission instead of how badly he worried he just messed everything up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... look, if I told you the whole reason I wanted to write this fic was because I goddamn LOVE me a good fake-out makeout...  
> I mean  
> I hope this got the message across
> 
> (when this is all done, I'm probably gonna post a chapter that's just a bunch of sketches & other ideas I half-finished drawin cuz that's half the fun TBH)
> 
> Next few days may have a delay in posting because uhhh real life just hit HARD and is demanding a lot of my free time BUT FEAR NOT, this fic is p much done & I'm just fussy about nitpick/editing before I post each chapter ♥ hope y'all shall continue to enjoy!


	8. Chapter 8

Focusing on the task at hand, Len led to the large, sturdy storage room door. He immediately began assessing and identifying the security panel that was clearly a recent addition; he’d surmised a number of different models, but this was an even newer, more top-of-the-line device.

Almost certainly Alexa’s doing.

He got to work without chatting through it, needed every second to count in their favor as he pried open the protective casing in order to prevent its tamper-proofing from triggering a deadlock. It may be a more complex locking mechanism than what he’d anticipated, and he may have been out of the game while he was technically deceased, but he hadn’t earned his renown for nothing. Disabling it would only take forty-three seconds.

But while Len worked in the clarity and comfort of a skillset he’d spent decades perfecting, his mind wandered.

His fingers deftly twisted wires and he remembered how it felt to card through thick hair, how soft it had been despite the product holding it in an artful tousle. How the slight tug, then _pull_ had elicited a delicious reaction that just begged for _more_.

He applied pressure to the tamper plate, doesn’t linger on the reminder of the _last_ time he held something down to solve a situation, can only connect it again with the speedster (who had saved him from that last time, too). Instead, he wondered what it might be like to have held that warm, eager body against him; to have pulled him closer, guided Barry's hips down where he wanted him.

Len counted the seconds it took for the back-up battery to cycle through a reset (the weakness of this model was also its selling point; it would function even if it lost power thanks to its long-lasting back-up battery, but there was an unfortunate workaround if someone could access both the power supply connection and the battery simultaneously). Len remembered the count of time he’d lost when he’d grabbed Barry’s shoulder and the speedster’s expression had shifted from panicked to resolved. How Len’s hold of the seconds until the guard would find them had scattered when the speedster straddled his lap and stole his breath in a kiss.

Foolishly, he’d realized too late what the speedster intended, and while he could have stopped him, Len hadn’t. That part of him that was perhaps too greedy, too indulgent, too damn sentimental and beyond obsessed with everything about Barry had reveled in it. Because if that was all he’d ever get, he’d savor it. Maybe he had no right to, but he comforted himself with thinking that he hadn’t stolen a thing to get what he wanted; if anything, Barry had been the thief in that regard (though being honest with himself, Len can’t help but think again that it’s nothing he wouldn’t have given freely if asked). The idea of Barry taking what he wanted threatened to send a shiver through Len that he fought back; years of discipline instead held his hands steady.

His hands that still felt the ghost of sensation, warm and thrilling, of holding Barry as he tasted him.

_Dammit_.

Disengaging the lock, Len felt his face contorting into a scowl that had nothing to do with his success. He didn’t look at the speedster he could feel hovering just behind him, the silence between them having thickened like a heavy fog of unspoken intent. He knew Barry would linger on what had happened, but hoped he had the sense to leave it and focus on their job.

Len yanked the door open only slightly more forcefully than he needed to, a vicious burst of action that calmed his nerves. Smoothed his scowl into a more neutral smirk. Better.

Barry didn’t comment, but he didn’t have to look at the speedster to know he was biting his tongue; no doubt to chirp praise again, and Len hated that he desperately wanted to hear it.

The storage room was cramped, shelving along all of the walls and an array of various boxes and large transit cases stacked in mismatched piles. There was just enough room for one person to move around, so Len continued to take the lead in that regard as well. 

“Holy crap,” Barry said, finally unable to hold back his reaction at seeing all of it. “They really filled this place up. Is _all_ of this for the auction?”

“Doubtful,” Len answered as he sidled past one of the stacks of boxes, eyes roving for anything bearing the Mercury Labs insignia, “Just like everyone else, Santini’s also doing business tonight. The auction is just the evening’s _advertised_ attraction. Everything else is on the secret menu.”

“That’s… not exactly reassuring,” Len noticed Barry in his periphery, not quite following him into the room but craning his neck to look around.

“Just in case, Scarlet, stay on _that_ side of the door,” Len warned, sparing a glance over his shoulder at the speedster. “Don’t want to risk getting trapped in here.”

“Oh,” Barry responded, like he expected some other explanation, “yeah, good call.”

“Not that I’d worry about finding a way to pass the time,” Len continued, innuendo threaded through his tease, testing, goading; a defense mechanism he couldn't unspeak as he recognized it for the attack it was, too.

Barry doesn’t respond to it, and Len continued his search in the heavy silence again. They have seven minutes and thirty-eight seconds until their ten minutes was up.

Fortunately, he only needed thirteen seconds more; a Mercury Labs case fitting the approximate size he anticipated the device would need sat on one of the shelves, obscured from the door's line-of-sight by the surrounding stacks of boxes and other cases. 

“Hello there,” Len breathed, pulling the case up to the edge of the shelf and inspecting it. No lock, which was almost a pity. Flicking open its latches must have been loud enough that it piqued Barry’s curiosity again, and the speedster asked, “Did you find it?”

Len opened the lid, breath held. 

Custom-cut foam lined the interior of the case, the shape clearly matching the images and description of the device they sought.

But it was empty.

“... it’s not here,” Len said slowly, snapping the case shut and pushing it back into place on the shelf, swiping the cuff of his sleeve over where any potential fingerprints might have been left. 

“ _What?_ ” Barry hissed, then added under his breath, “... well, shit.”

Len gave the surrounding shelves and their contents another onceover, but everything in his instincts told him they needed to get out of there. His running count informed him that they had just over five minutes remaining if the guard was punctual about his smoke break. Too late, a crash of potential explanations slid into place and Len was three steps back toward the door when he froze.

“Hello again, pretty thing,” purred an all-too-familiar woman’s voice.

**⚡️**

_Shit!_

Barry had been so preoccupied with fighting down all the things he knew it wasn't the time or place to address, too busy trying to remain mission-focused and lean into the little storage room to see what Len was doing that he hadn’t been paying attention to everything else behind him. Where Alexa had managed to sneak up soundlessly and currently had a snub-nosed pistol aimed at him.

“Be a dear and get those hands up, back against the wall, hm?” She instructed pleasantly, gesturing with a tilt of her head toward the wall outside the storage room. Barry went, moving slowly. There’s no way Len hadn’t heard.

“Leonard, darling, if you’d care to join us?” Alexa invited as if they were just enjoying themselves having a grand friendly evening, like you do, breaking into a secured mob vault on a multi-million dollar yacht during a black-market auction.

It was so unsettlingly pleasant-sounding that Barry almost wanted to laugh.

Barry was grateful that his position against the wall at least afforded him the peripheral sight of seeing Len slide into view, hands raised, though he paused just inside the little room's doorway. 

“Alexa,” Len offered in greeting, dipping his chin. “While I hadn’t expected to see you again so soon, I’m sure we’d all like to make this a happy encounter.”

“Would we, now?” Alexa countered, keeping her weapon aimed at Barry.

Len’s expression was the neutrally-pleasant look that Barry had come to think of as deadly; there was no mirth in his smile, just sharp potential. Barry remained silent, but ready to move if he had to. 

“How would you propose we resolve things, my dear?” Len asked her, tone somewhere between familiar and businesslike; his nonchalance might have been insulting to someone who didn’t know him, but clearly Alexa knew him well enough that she took it in stride.

“Start by telling me what you’re after,” Alexa instructed, and Barry’s attention solely rested on Len. The thief looked to be weighing things, and Barry had to clench his jaw around the want to just answer her himself; they were wasting time they didn’t have, but he still trusted being able to follow the thief's lead. Len’s gaze remained on her, unwavering.

“Mercury Labs tech. Metahuman stuff. Want it for my Rogues,” Len said, a truncated version of the explanation he’d justified his street cover with if it ever came to being necessary; one of Lisa’s rumors had apparently implied that a lot of the metahumans in and around Central City’s more criminal-leaning side could earn a coveted place among the Rogues, Snart’s crew, but details were hard to come by past that; probably because it was a ruse, but it was as solid as any Barry had heard.

He also suspected there was some truth to it, if some of what Cisco had mentioned about Lisa’s ‘friends’ was true.

“Your ‘ _Rogues,_ ’” Alexa repeated, teasing the word out like it was a fun new flavor. “So you’ve, what, gathered yourself a band of merry misfits to do your bidding now that you’re getting along in years? Or just too good to get your hands dirty anymore, unless there's a special occasion?”

If her jabs about his age or approach were meant to hit, Len doesn’t seem bothered by them. “Something like that,” he answered with a slight shrug.

“That include this one here?” Alexa tipped her head again toward Barry, on whom her pistol had remained perfectly steady the entire time. 

Len’s gaze slid to the speedster momentarily, though didn’t give anything away. If there was a signal in there somewhere, Barry didn’t find it, so he remained as he was. “... not yet,” Len hedged, though a corner of his mouth lifted playfully. “Still need to try him on first to see if he’ll fit.”

Alexa scoffed, her attention finally favoring Barry. “If you’ve got half a brain in that handsome head of yours, sweet thing, you’ll leave all this behind the instant you step foot back on dry land. I can tell you’re still fresh and this one,” she slanted a look toward Len, “isn’t the kind of company you wanna be keeping. Trust me.”

“So I should be keeping you company instead?” Barry asked her, because he wasn't just going to leave that alone, though defending Len's character didn't exactly seem the best play, either.

Alexa laughed, low and humorless. “Oh, absolutely not. You should high-tail it as far away from the both of us as you can, pretty. Everyone on this floating mess is bad news.” Her head tilted, “Except for you. Funny, everyone aboard knows somebody else, but nobody save old Cold here seems to know you.”

That sense of being trapped in a situation, like he was unwitting prey surrounded by predators, snapped Barry’s attention into high alert. Alexa, much like Len, seemed to move fluidly between disarmingly affable and deadly, and every part of him that knew how to recognize a potential threat was screaming at him to be careful.

Barry chanced a look toward Len and the thief’s inscrutable expression had resumed residence on his features. There were a few potential covers they’d discussed in the event that something like this happened, but Barry had the sinking suspicion that Alexa wouldn’t go for any of them. Not least of reasons being that he was a _terrible_ liar, and he had no idea if she knew Len well enough to see through any of his ploys.

So.

Maybe.

Just.... _maybe._

He could sidestep the truth enough to imply instead of lie.

“Not everybody got flashy superpowers after the accelerator explosion,” Barry offered, giving Len a brief jerk of a nod that he hoped indicated he knew what he was doing. “But that doesn’t make ‘em any less valuable. Being able to make sure certain information doesn’t get found, or gets lost... “ Barry shrugged; it’s a terribly loose interpretation of his job as a CSI, for one, but it’s certainly not untrue.

And, of course, Len— _brilliant_ , gorgeous Len—picked up the thread Barry was putting down.

“There’s a reason why Leonard Snart doesn’t exist in any known records _anywhere_ anymore,” Len smirked.

Alexa’s scrutiny slid between both of them, silence holding for a long moment. “... so, what, you’re a super-capable hacker? Dime a dozen if you know where to look.”

“Hackers don’t erase physical records. Allen, here, on the other hand…” Len’s smirk grew, “Let’s just say he’s _very_ thorough.”

Alexa tilted a considering look at Barry, lips curling into a little smile. “Is _that_ so?”

Barry tipped his head in a sideways nod, brows bumping upward; it wasn’t _untrue_.

She hummed, “Well, then. Like I said before, Leonard,” she lowered the pistol and, in a fluid motion, tucked it back into a thigh holster that was there and gone in the sleek slide of movement and fabric, the fall of her gown hiding it again as if it had never been there at all. “... you really do have the best taste in toys.”

Len inclined his head in a pleased nod, slowly lowering his hands. Barry took that as his cue to do the same.

“Then unless you’re needing something from Santini’s little closet of scandalous treasures, I suggest we leave it as we found it and go talk elsewhere, hm?” Len prompted.

“Come to think of it…” she pantomimed deep consideration for a moment, “there _is_ a little something I wouldn’t mind liberating, if you’d be so kind to fetch it for me? White crocodile leather case, about this big,” she held her hands out to indicate its dimensions. “It has sentimental value.” She smiled sweetly.

Len’s lips quirked in something closer to an authentic smile than Barry had seen on him around other people all night, and the speedster had to remind himself not to stare.

“I believe I might’ve seen just the thing,” Len replied, backing a few steps into the storage room, “One moment.” He disappeared, then a few muffled _thunks_ and the soft scrape of something heavy being shoved around seemed to announce his search, but then he emerged with not one, but _two_ cases in-hand. The one he offered Alexa fit her description, a somewhat-worn-looking little train case in greying white scaled leather that he held delicately by its handle, which looked to be made of pearl. The other mid-sized case was a slightly-heavier dark ballistic plastic. 

It had the S.T.A.R. Labs wordmark stenciled on it, and Barry felt his heart try to crawl out his throat.

 _What is that? WHAT IS THAT? Was something stolen from us and we didn’t even know it? WHEN? Oh, god, I thought we’d learned this lesson because of the first time we met Len, and now there’s God-knows-what we have to account for? Oh no poor Cisco, he’s gonna be heartbroken and worried sick over this and_ —

“As this wasn’t listed among the evening’s lots, I don’t suppose anyone will miss me taking a souvenir for myself?” Len said by way of explanation as Alexa delicately accepted the train case from the thief. 

Her attention lingered on the object in her hands as she answered him, “Oh, help yourself. But do lock up when you’re done,” she instructed.

From where Barry stood, he couldn't see what was in the case when Alexa opened it, but the look of satisfaction she wore when she snapped its latch closed again seemed to be confirmation enough that she had what she’d come for. 

Len shut the storage room door, security lock engaging with a muffled _whir-thunk_. Barry nearly missed the graceful swipe of the thief’s sleeve over the door’s handle, but he wasn’t surprised that Len made sure to cover any potential trace. For a brief moment, Len’s eyes caught on Barry, and they shared a private smile in mutually appreciating the humor in him erasing evidence in front of a CSI after they'd just implied he had some metahuman ability to do so.

"Good habits," Len murmured.

"Uh-huh," Barry retorted with a soft huff of laughter.

“Shall we go get you boys your gadget?” Alexa offered, her tone cheerful with an undercurrent of that earlier disarming sensuality.

“Yes, _please_ ,” Len responded pleasantly, as if they hadn’t just navigated a situation from gunpoint to theft of gosh-knows-what to whatever they were going to do next.

Len presented her his arm, and she slid hers through it. Barry almost offered to carry one or both of their acquisitions, but then the woman transferred her little train case to her occupied arm and held her other out toward Barry expectantly. 

“Well? I’ve two arms, and one handsome boy for each. Come on, pretty, you needn’t be shy,” she crooned invitingly, and Barry probably moved a little too hurriedly, too awkwardly, to offer her the crook of his arm in a mirror of Len’s gesture.

She laughed, this time all warm mirth. “Oh, Leonard, this one’s too sweet. Don’t you dare ruin him,” she fussed as they began their trek back down the hall; it was a narrow fit, but they just managed it in the surreal side-by-side charade of companionability. 

Barry desperately wanted to make sure this wasn’t dooming them to something even _worse_ , but there was no way to do that at the moment. Instead, Barry tried to keep his wits sharp and not screw anything else up ( _do not think of the situation with Len right now, Barry, that’s not helping ANYTHING_ ). He was _really_ not loving how that was becoming a trend on this mission, but if it meant they’d make it out safe and sound with the Mercury Labs tech, he’d endure it.

Behind them, the muffled clang of a door closed, and Barry would have to remind himself to ask Len later how timely Chris the security guard had been about his smoke break. At least, he hoped he'd get the chance to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a few chapters left! AAAHH!!
> 
> Aiming to get everything posted before the week is out, though there may be a slight delay as I continue to need to prioritize Adulting; fret not, dear delightful readers ♥ and I reiterate all my love to the folks who take the time to comment. Every one of them has made my day immensely brighter in a very much-needed way, thank you.


	9. Chapter 9

Rejoining the crowd, Alexa guided Len and Barry on an unhurried path through the main ballroom. The auction had taken a brief recess between lots; the perfect time for conducting other sorts of business. Len rankled at her choice to meander toward their goal, parading the men on her arms in a clear show of association that he bit his tongue on commenting upon.

He didn’t trust her entirely, but if his suspicions were correct, he could at least trust her to see them through to obtaining the tech they’d come for.

Alexa, ever the social butterfly, had engaged the speedster in innocuous-seeming small talk. To his credit, Barry had eased into it with boyish charm that helped better hide his nerves.

Everything about it sat in a leaden discomfort lodged in the back of Len’s throat; the sooner he got Barry out of here, especially _away_ from Alexa, the better. It had been a clever play to give her the impression that Barry had some sort of metahuman ability to tweak information (and Len had thrilled at the easy way it slid in to real events; _clever_ Barry, twisting the truth to his aid instead of fumbling through a lie), but he could already see how she’d taken a shine to the young man. Not that Len could blame her, but her earlier warnings hadn’t been entirely unfounded.

Problem was, Len fully recognized that it would absolutely be in Barry’s best interest to get as far away from him and all the rest of this as he could, but a ferocious part of Len didn’t _want_ him to. Wanted to keep the speedster close, make sure all knew that he was off-limits, that Barry was _his_.

But he wasn’t. Len had no claim to him in that way, no right to it, no matter how some parts of him snarled in disagreement. No matter how Barry looked at him and Len felt like, for the first time in his life, he wanted to live up to the way someone saw him despite knowing his flaws. No matter how much he’d thought long into sleepless nights about the man he had been, and the man he wanted to be, even before he’d set foot on the Waverider and many, many times since. Especially since he’d noticed Barry noticing him and found he craved it.

No matter how much part of him wanted—

“Just through here,” Alexa announced softly enough for just Len and Barry to overhear, indicating one of the private suites deeper into the ballroom. Len recalled the schematics, knew that this area functioned as an office interconnected with a larger penthouse and had at least three other potential entry/exit points.

A guard moved to open the door for them, earning a sultry thanks and wink from their hostess. The room beyond was indeed a well-appointed office, walls lined with inset lighting that made the assortment of mismatched artwork on display seem to glow despite Santini’s questionable taste. Once the door shut behind them, Alexa smoothly extricated herself from their companionable linkage of arms, stride carrying her toward the large wooden desk arranged to be the room’s focal point.

Len cataloged every detail, tension wound under his skin as tight as he could stand it without visibly giving himself away. If she had another angle, she would show it here, soon.

“Unclench, Leonard,” Alexa said as she shot him a look, “Unless you’re planning to put me in a bad mood, _I_ plan to continue enjoying myself after I fetch your gadget.”

He hated that he still couldn’t read her well enough to know if she was being entirely honest; she was still the best liar he’d ever met, aside from himself.

“Pardon me if I try to learn from my own mistakes,” Len lifted one shoulder in a petulant shrug, following after her enough to lean against the desk as he watched her circle around it.

Her brow arched, dagger-sharp, and her smile was still as gorgeously deadly as ever. “And they say an old dog can’t learn new tricks.”

His skin crawled and he was very ready to be done with this evening. He flexed fingers where they’d gone white-knuckled on the grip he had on the S.T.A.R. Labs transit case.

“Allen, be a dear and come help me?” Alexa summoned Barry sweetly, and the speedster obliged with the same wary hesitation and momentary glance of deference toward Len that he’d been doing all evening. Like he kept checking in with Len to make sure he was in the clear to act, and the thief reveled in the little thrill he felt at it.

“Sure, what do you need?” Barry asked, hands out of his pockets but clearly unsure where to go.

Alexa slid the pointed toe of her shoe under the edge of a rug, flipping it back to reveal the unmistakable shape of a compartment beneath. “Get that open? I’d hate to risk tearing my gown,” she explained as one hand smoothed sensuously over her hip. Though Barry had been looking at her, his eyes immediately dropped to the floor and he followed shortly after to perform the task at hand, answering with a strangled, “Yep, you got it!”

Len stalwartly refused to fixate on the sight of Barry kneeling so readily.

“I’ll wait until after you’ve gone to let Junior know that one of the evening’s big-ticket items was sniped by a _very_ generous buyer,” Alexa said as she set the white train case on the corner of the desk, fingers playing absently over the raised shapes of scales in leather. 

Ah, so she expected money. “How generous?” Len asked drily.

He could feel Alexa’s eyes on him, but took his time in meeting them. They both wore inscrutable expressions, clearly trying to read the other; Len waited.

Alexa shook her head in a soft laugh, waving a hand through the air. “However much you feel like, doesn’t matter. Junior’s not minding the numbers enough to know the difference, especially not after tonight.”

Len stilled, gaze narrowed. “And?”

“And nothing,” Alexa smirked, tilting her head at him, assessing. “You know, I really hadn’t expected you’d be here tonight, otherwise I might’ve avoided the trip. Now… I think for the first time in many years, it’s been genuinely good to see you, Leonard.”

There was a layer of old hurt, could-have-beens and broken trust that prevented him from truly returning the sentiment. Only someone you trusted could betray you, after all, and he’d learned a hard lesson in that from this woman.

Any words he might muster to respond would be at once too much and not enough, and he realized the greatest kindness he could offer was his silence in acknowledgment. So, his eyes momentarily slid shut as he nodded, and would let her take from it what she wished. He knew that, too, was tipping his hand in revealing how the persona he’s spent decades arming around himself is, perhaps, not what it once was. One more concession for the turn his evening had taken, one of many he’d begun to realize he minded less after these past few years.

The dissonance of his past jostling against his present (and his hopes, his wants for a future) was brought into stark relief once again as Barry stood, holding the metahuman dampening and detection device in his hands.

  
  


**⚡️**

Though the device was clearly on and running, Barry was glad to find it wasn’t too warm to handle; gingerly, he set it down on the desk and bent to close the storage compartment behind him (also mindful to wipe away any potential fingerprints), then righted the rug atop it. Straightening back up, he leaned over the desk to examine it.

“Wow, looks like Mercury’s latest power supply got even smaller… this thing was probably running for at least a few hours before people even got here, and could still go for another six or so before it’d need a recharge or dedicated source.”

Leaning to get a better look at it, he was able to discern some of the components, though a few others were within protective housing. The good thing about a prototype was that at least its cobbled-together inelegance meant it still had a lot exposed. Glancing up at Len, with a momentary aside to see that Alexa was watching him, Barry’s brows raised.

“This is it, for sure,” Barry confirmed, and Len’s chin dipped in a minute nod. Before the thief could say anything, Barry looked toward Alexa with a crooked smile. “Thank you.”

The woman looked at Barry less like he was a snack, now, and more like he was a particularly intriguing puzzle. “You’re quite welcome, Allen.”

Her gaze lingered, then returned to Len and her hand strayed to play over the white leather train case once again. “Well, not that it hasn’t been _thrilling_ to catch up, I’ve been neglecting my other guests.”

Wait, so she was just… leaving? Was that good? He hoped that was good.

“We’d hate to keep you,” Len drawled, though he was looking at the woman like he still expected something else.

Alexa rolled her eyes at Leonard, but took a step nearer to Barry, reaching out to slide a hand up his arm and settle on his shoulder. “Well, while I wouldn’t mind keeping _you_ … I think _he_ might have a problem with that,” she smirked, glancing at Len, then winking where only Barry could see. 

Barry tried to keep his expression neutrally pleasant. “I think it was nice to meet you, too?”

She laughed, warm and as near to genuine as he thought he’d heard from her all evening. “Oh, pretty thing, you’re lucky I’m not the woman I was when I saw him last. But then,” she continued, softer, still speaking to Barry though her attention seemed to return to the thief, “... he’s not the same, either.”

“I was inspired to change my game,” Leonard said, and his unaffected drawl carried a hint of something confiding.

“I can see that,” Alexa said, her hand falling away from Barry’s shoulder. 

“Enjoy the rest of your evening, boys. If we do this again, let’s make it on purpose next time, shall we?” She said, sashaying past Leonard to knock their respective cases together in a soft _thunk_ and only pausing to glance back over her shoulder to offer them both one last seductive smirk. 

“Have fun in Prague,” Len said, and she laughed until the door shut behind her.

Barry shifted where he stood, expectant for a long moment because was that it? 

That’s… that was good, right? 

“So, uh…” He realized, belatedly, they should probably be careful about surveillance and glanced briefly around the room.

Len snorted loud enough that it pulled Barry’s attention back to the thief as his drawl put some of the speedster’s concern to rest. “No uninvited eyes or ears on us, Scarlet, but let’s not dawdle,” he said as he set the S.T.A.R. Labs case down on the desk, then pushed it toward Barry. 

“What’s this for?” Barry asked cautiously, pulling the case the rest of the way across the desk that separated them, thumbs pausing before he flipped open its latches.

The thief awarded him with a bemused smile, “What, did you think we were just going to carry that thing out like common shoplifters?” He nodded toward the dampening device. “Seemed like that case was just large enough to fit it, though the padding is a little more… _crude_. Supposed you might like that back, too.”

Puzzled, Barry opened up the case and almost immediately burst out laughing.

Inside was the familiar bright red athletic fabric of the first running singlet he’d run his tests in after he woke up from his coma. He pulled it out, finding that some of the electrodes and sweatbands he’d ended up not using were also tucked inside. “Oh, man, I can’t believe someone stole _this,_ ” he shook his head, snorting another laugh.

“Do I even want to ask?” Len’s voice lilted, humor rich in his tone as Barry found the thief watching him.

“Did you look at what was in here?” Barry asked, and the thief shrugged, which wasn’t really an answer but Barry continued anyway. “It’s… I guess, technically my first suit,” Barry shrugged, then laughed again. “Whoever made off with this must’ve been so confused and disappointed when they ended up with what’s basically a high-tech gym bag.” 

Barry pulled out the contents of the case and eyeballed it; sure enough, it’d be a bit of a squeeze, but the device would _just_ fit in there. Looking back toward Len, Barry carefully set the device back onto the desk. “So… what now? Disable this and get out of here, or should we wait because it’d be suspicious if we just left early, or maybe should I leave it on and we just carry it with us until—”

“Turn it off so we can get out of here. I’d rather not risk any other surprises,” Len answered smoothly, and Barry swallowed around what that immediately conjured. 

Because, yeah, of course he didn’t want to stick around to see what other ways this night could go off the rails. 

And _that_ just reminded Barry of the thing he’d been doing his damndest to avoid, the thing that felt like it was trying to creep back into the room with them now that he and Len were alone again, that had nothing at all to do with finishing the mission they were nearly done with.

_Not the time, Barry. Worry about that after you’re done._

So Barry nodded, “Yep, got it,” and disabled the device; the warm oscillating hum of it slowed, then stilled, until the only remaining indicator was the little battery readout on one of the LED screens. Gingerly, Barry reached toward his own wrist to disable the device in his watch as well, but Len’s fingers encircled his hand to stop him.

“Just in case, let’s wait on anything more… _Flashy_ until after we disembark,” the thief explained, his hand lingering until Barry nodded his understanding, then curled those dextrous fingers away to tuck against the thief’s chin.

“Yeah, no, totally agree with you there,” Barry said, “but I’m gonna go ahead and turn this off.” He’d ordinarily have left some room for interpretation, tone lifting to almost make it a question, but he didn’t feel like asking permission. There was an insistent buildup of too many things under his skin that felt like it was rubbing him raw from the inside out without the feeling of his speed there.

Len seemed to take a moment to consider, and Barry wondered if there was any possibility… “You don’t think they’ve got some other kind of detector or dampening tech, do you?”

“No,” Len answered readily, “We’d have heard gloating about it otherwise. Go ahead,” Len waved his hand, and Barry realized the gesture was similar to one Alexa had used, too. In the way people adopted mannerisms from each other, he wondered which one of them had picked it up from the other. Wondered a lot about whatever that history was, but had to push his curiosity aside; not his business.

Barry disengaged the dampening device on his wrist, and the flood of his connection with the Speed Force returned to him like he was pulling in a life-saving breath after having been stuck too long underwater. His eyes closed as he took a long moment to just _bask_ in the returned feeling. Then, he held still in the patient tension of awaiting any potential alarm; when none came, Barry rolled his shoulders in a pleased hum. Breathing deep, when he refocused on the thief, it was to find Len watching him. 

Barry’s not sure what to make of the expression on the thief’s face, but he grinned, “Better already. Alright, let me just…” he trailed off as he set to wrapping the Mercury Labs device in the damn running singlet, tucking some of the electrodes into gaps left around it where the bundle awkwardly lodged diagonally in the case. After a little gentle shoving, he closed the case with a definitive snap of its latches. “There!”

“Let’s go out the back way,” Len declared, striking off toward one of the other doors out of the office, and Barry hastened to follow with the case in-hand. Unlike last time, they weren’t as careful, though he could still tell that Len was on the alert for anyone else who might be in this area.

Barry didn’t want to potentially trap himself in calling it done before things were truly done, so he held his celebration at bay until they made it back out onto the deck, cool night air evoking an involuntary shiver. 

_Almost there. Okay. Almost done, please, let this last bit just go okay so we can get back to the Labs and I can apologize and then go home and yell into a pillow after a long shower._

Len said nothing as he continued to lead, but his gait paused and Barry looked up to see the thief’s arm offered in an expectant angle for him to take it again (one last time). “May I escort you in disembarking, Mister Allen?”

_… after a really long, hot-until-the-water-runs-cold shower._

“Yeah, yep, please and thanks,” Barry hastened to answer, laughing through the awkwardness and reminding himself to loosen his grip on the handle of the case with their reclaimed tech nestled inside. He took Len’s arm again, and easily fell into step beside him as Len led the way.

Nobody tried to stop them, nobody even tried to _talk_ to them as they strolled, unhurried, off the yacht and out into the night air along the waterfront promenade, Barry’s fingers curled around the handle of the case containing reclaimed tech that swung lightly at his side with every step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be forewarned: next chapter's got some _f e e l s_
> 
> (and the one after that, I daresay this fic shall earn its rating ;) )
> 
> Thanks for continuing to read, and much love to everyone taking the time to comment along the way. ♥


	10. Chapter 10

Optimism wasn’t often an outlook Len had the luxury of entertaining, and it’s an unsettlingly-foreign thing to think their evening’s escapades may be nearly complete. Ordinarily, he’d revel in the satisfaction of a well-executed job, a plan and its contingencies coalescing into a series of events that spelled out success.

Tonight, however, he couldn’t shake the sour feeling of having missed something, of there being a lingering unaccounted-for variable he expected to knock everything off course.

He had thought Alexa would be that variable, but she’d proven to be surprising once again in a different way; her self-serving sentimentality, for once, worked to his favor. He had a guess as to what she had reacquired in that little train case of hers, and his parting shot about Prague had all but been confirmed by the note of delight in her laugh. He’d always counted that sentimentality as a weakness (because she’d played it against him, even while using it to shield herself), but maybe…

Well, he’s had reason to re-evaluate a great many things over the past several years.

Especially in the weeks since his having been stolen back from death.

As always, Alexa could read him too well; no matter how much he made an effort to constrain himself, there was no way for her to miss that there was something different about Barry. Something different about what Barry meant to Len.

Len’s instincts had only quieted somewhat at her reassurance. He didn’t trust her (he’d never make that mistake again), but he trusted that his convenient presence aided in whatever her aims had been that night; she may have gotten better in the intervening years, but locks and security bypassing had never been her strong suit. No doubt she’d planned to manipulate someone else to retrieve that little prize for her from the storage room, and that things worked out in all their favor… well, he’d connected enough dots throughout the evening to recognize their aims were aligned insofar as neither stepped on the other’s toes. 

She owed him, besides.

Quite a lot.

And perhaps he’d count tonight as a step in the direction of her repaying some of that debt.

He was in no hurry for their paths to cross again any time soon, though.

The feeling of still being within sight of the yacht may as well have been a physical pinprick against the back of his neck as he strode down the promenade, arm-in-arm with the speedster. His right hand was free, and he resisted the want to brush his fingertips over the cold gun where it had remained holstered all evening. 

Beside him, he could feel Barry’s tension relaxing incrementally, though he was still notably making an effort to not look back over his shoulder. It was, like so much else about him, damnably endearing. Perhaps the speedster was, as always, the sole remaining unknown variable that left Len feeling like no amount of planning could fully prepare him for what might be in store; that, too, had only served to further endear Barry to him.

“I know we could probably race on back once we round this building,” Len said, chin tipping toward a large waterfront complex that housed everything from businesses to restaurants and attractions in a multilevel sprawl that would easily break the line-of-sight with the yacht, “but maybe let’s walk a little further, just to be on the safe side.” 

“Yeah, good idea,” Barry responded readily, glancing at him with a little less tension held in his smile. “Kinda nice to just enjoy the night air after all that.”

Selfishly, Len wanted to feel the closeness, the warmth, the comedown of their mission just a little longer. He admitted to himself, too, that some of that sense of success was tied to the speedster against him, and he recognized that whenever they returned to the Labs, this whatever-it-was they’d spun for the night would be over.

He wondered, then, what they’d become. 

None of the answers his mind supplied were the sort to evoke pleasant feelings; life had long ago taught him the hard lesson that the only good things he got were the ones he stole, and there were certain things even he refused to take.

But then again, that feeling of an unaccounted-for variable fluttered against his ribcage, and he wondered...

**⚡️**

Barry let out a long, slow breath.

_Don’t celebrate yet, not until you’re back at the Labs. What if they have snipers? ... Okay maybe that’s a bit extreme, but don’t jinx it, Barry!_

Barry also admitted, maybe, it was nice to just… walk a little bit longer with the illusion of having enjoyed a night out with the man on his arm. He wondered what the life some alternate versions of themselves might lead where they had a pleasant night on the town, ended with a romantic walk along the waterfront just enjoying the nearness and each other’s company.

That alternate version probably didn’t involve superheroes and villains and mobsters and auctions.

“Oh,” Barry mentally snagged on something, his gait stalling, “what about the thing you won? The, uh… orchestra thing?”

“Arranged for,” Len answered. He’d also matched the abrupt awkward miss in Barry’s step so smoothly that he led the speedster into walking again just as smoothly.

“I didn’t know you liked the symphony,” Barry observed, glancing at the thief with open curiosity.

“Is it that surprising?” Len asked, his gaze fixed somewhere out over the water. “Besides, it isn’t for me.”

Barry wanted to ask, but—as with whatever the situation was involving Alexa—he reminded himself that it wasn’t his business.

“No, not surprising, I like it too. They do a really great show every year that’s all classic movie themes, lots of John Williams stuff,” Barry said, unwilling to let the silence fall flat between them again. “They usually do a movie during the holidays where they perform the soundtrack live. They’re supposed to do Jurassic Park this year and the _instant_ tickets go on sale, let’s just say I’m gonna be on that _fast_ ,” Barry grinned excitedly.

“What, no complimentary civic entertainment for Central City’s finest?” Len asked in a playful drawl, and Barry shook his head.

“No, nothing like that. Did get the key to the city, but I honestly couldn’t even tell you what that means? I can’t really display it anywhere, so I keep it in a shoebox at the top of my closet. Pretty sure if I walked up to someone and just brandished a giant key, Flash or not, they’d be worried I was up to something,” he laughed, shrugging as he swung the case in his left hand a little in lieu of a gesture to reinforce his point.

The warm rumble of Len’s laugh against him made Barry want to lean closer, but just reminded him how royally he’d screwed up earlier. 

“It’s for Lisa,” Len said, seemingly tangential until Barry realized he was referring to the auction, to the private box at the symphony orchestra. “She loves it. And, perhaps selfishly, I supposed if I got it for her, she might share it with me from time to time, too.” 

Len’s admission warmed around a soft smile, more genuine than Barry had seen him since the moment they set foot on the yacht. 

Barry couldn’t look away, couldn’t help grinning about how Len probably had his pick of whatever he wanted from among all the city underworld’s ill-gotten gains, and the only thing that had caught his attention was a private box at the symphony that he intended to give to his sister.

“Everyone will leave it alone, but they’ll assume it’s being used for nefarious purposes. Perhaps rightfully.” Len smirked around the last words, but with humor that belied his attempt at covering a heartfelt gesture with criminal intent as he glanced at the speedster on his arm. “Stop looking at me like that, Scarlet, you’ll ruin my reputation,” Len fussed.

For his part, Barry wasn’t really thinking about how he must have been looking at the thief, but he’s pretty sure it’s not doing much to hide how incredibly fond he is of the man beside him. How the relative solitude they shared in the otherwise-quiet evening had begun relaxing the tension of their mission away, inviting mirth in its wake. He couldn’t resist goading the thief in a playful invocation of the challenging game that had always danced between them, and nudged into his side as they walked. “Make me,” Barry tilted a cocky grin at Len.

This time, it was Len whose step faltered; barely noticeable, but there it was. His eyes slid shut as the thief drew in a sharp breath, arm tightening slightly around Barry’s elbow. “Careful, Barry. Aren’t you supposed to be encouraging me toward more _heroic_ behavior? I doubt my methods to... ‘ _make you’_ would qualify. Although,” he drawled, “based on tonight, I may need to reassess my definition of ‘heroic.’”

Though Len’s tone was still teasing, it dipped low into the promising implication he’d spoken with last night when Barry felt like the building tension between them was about to burst. There was also something Barry could swear was almost fragile around the edges, and— _crap_. Barry had the full, awful luxury of his speed to process how he’d very possibly just stumbled into doing more of what he still hadn’t properly apologized for doing earlier. 

He wasn’t entirely oblivious; he could tell there _was_ something undeniably charged between them, had been trying to keep it from distracting him all evening, but he couldn’t help but worry that he might’ve utterly screwed up. Whatever burgeoning mess of feelings he had for the other man was hardly an excuse.

_How do I even begin to apologize but also tell him I want… god, what do I even want? What would HE even want? Step one, Barry, can’t put off talking about this any more._

“I— sorry, _shit,_ okay, I need to—” Barry fumbled for words, awkwardly coming to a stop as he moved away from the thief enough that he could face him. The ballast of the case in his hand felt like it aided in grounding him as he ploughed on; had to get the words out.

“I’m really sorry about what happened with the. The kissing and the. Diversion. Thing. I guess I thought you were signaling me to do that, because I’m a dork who apparently thinks what he sees in stuff like movies and tv shows is a _great_ plan for when things are _actually_ happening, and I shouldn’t have gone that far, it felt like taking advantage in a way that wasn’t okay,” Barry said, the words a rush of earnest apology that he did his best to corral intelligibly before releasing them in a barrage toward the thief. He reminded himself to breathe, so he did, then added again, “I’m sorry.”

Len tipped his head back, the curl of his lips less genuine in a little smile. “You can stop worrying yourself over my virtue, Barry. I meant it when I said it was fine. I’ve certainly endured worse for the sake of a job and it all worked out in our favor. I have to hand it to you,” his smirk widened, drawl lengthening his words, “I admire your dedication to the cover story.” He chuckled, long fingers sliding through the air in a way Barry would usually find enthralling, but instead felt unsettled as it seemed to be weaving something barbed between them.

Barry’s fingers around the handle of the transit case had gone numb, and he absently reminded himself to loosen his grip again. Len’s words brought on an unpleasant snarl of too many things in Barry’s thoughts, felt like someone had poured grease on a fire and trapped smoke inside him. Too many things thickening in his chest and threatening to suffocate him from the inside out, needed to be aired free before it consumed him.

“It wasn’t just part of a cover story,” Barry said tightly, pausing as he tried to piece his thoughts together, “Len, I—”

“Barry,” Len interjected, indirect gaze regarding the speedster with the same calm, neutrally-inscrutable veneer he’d held most of the evening, “that advice Alexa gave you, about staying as far away from me as possible? While she and I have a… _complicated_ history, she’s very right about that. That bleeding heart of yours doesn’t need any more wounds.”

The thief had folded one arm across his chest while the other punctuated his words with the tight flick of a gesture. Len’s habit of seldom looking him right in the eye felt particularly distant, even though he was just a few feet away. 

He was closing himself off.

“Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure you’re also the guy who keeps showing me he’s a better person than everyone else seems to think he is,” Barry ventured, taking a half-step closer. “And who I happen to trust, whether you think it’s a good idea or not. I also kinda really like you, which I’m guessing you’d say is a bad idea, too, but so far, I’m gonna have to disagree.”

Len’s posture had gone still, gaze averted and fingers curled tight where they had tucked under his chin. He dragged in a deep in-and-out of breath, jaw visibly working as that cool blue-gray returned to regard the speedster. His question emerged soft, wary, almost brittle. “What do you want, Barry?”

Barry’s mind reeled, so many answers to that question vying for focus. 

_I want to hear you laugh more, I want to be a reason you smile like there’s a secret nobody else knows but us, I want to feel you everywhere you’d let me and find out what it takes to loosen that tight hold on control, I want to make you forget every word that isn’t my name and steal your breath and show you that you’re worth more than the world has been so cruel to make you think you are and I want_ —

“So much,” Barry breathed, a little smile warring with the careful hush of his voice as he answered. “But mostly, I want us to be okay. Whatever else, I hope…” he searched Len’s expression, trading that unfinished thought to speak another, “... you know I care about you, right?”

❄️

Len clamped his teeth tight around the gnashing snarl of protests and barbed repudiations that threatened to snap free at Barry. His defensiveness was reflexive, as was the immediate want to remind Barry that Len was a dangerous thing, armed with a weapon specifically designed to do the speedster harm. To lash out and strike at any of the easy weaknesses (there were so many), to put distance between them with words and action. To _hurt,_ because he would not allow himself to be hurt first.

As he’d been doing more and more often (around Barry, _because_ of Barry), Len reigned in the venomous defenses and rolled them back from the tip of his tongue, dulling its edge.

Len snorted, though not unkindly. “You caring about people does seem to be your M.O., Scarlet. So, yes, I’ve noticed.” He shifted his stance, the tightness in his shoulders dropping ever-so-slightly. “ _We_ ,” he gestured slightly between them with the fingers that unfurled from beneath his chin, then returned to alight just beside the lapel of his suit jacket, “are okay.”

Because they were; the thief’s tangle of issues and hangups weren’t Barry’s fault or problem to solve, though the sweet hero would still shoulder them as if they were.

Part of Len wondered what it might be like to even consider letting him.

Barry’s brows pulled together, and it was clear he was reading in Len’s posture that the thief still wasn’t fully forthright. The silence stretched, nearing awkward, until Barry blurted with all the earnest investment he seemed to keep giving Len despite everything, “What do _you_ want?”

_Ah, there’s that variable._

Len wasn’t sure the last time someone asked him that, much less truly cared about the answer.

He took his time in responding, and was grateful that Barry granted him patience.

The litany of his immediate internal response— _You, you; I want you_ — isn’t something he’s ready to admit aloud. 

This dance between them wasn’t one he could lead, though he’s not certain he’s fully ready to follow where he thinks Barry wants to go, either.

Iris had told him Barry’s heart did nothing in half-measures, after all, though Len had been well aware of it before Miss West had noticed enough to feel the need to tell him. To do her sisterly duty in gauging his interest and intent, which Len had been surprised to find hadn’t been to tell him off entirely.

Once, he might have cruelly called the lot of them soft-hearted fools and taken the advantage for what it was.

Now…

He isn’t sure when it happened, but that roiling tangle of defenses within him had begun including defending Barry, too. Len’s not sure how to feel that a great deal of that is an internal tug-of-war that’s spent the last two days (longer, really; much longer) grappling with protecting Barry from _him_.

This evening, this _mission,_ had helped put a great deal into perspective for Len. Reminded him of the life he led before the world was one of superheroes and time travel and fanciful dreams shaped in handsome smiles and lightning. The reality of his past isn’t something he’ll ever be rid of, not fully, nor does he truly want to be. The reality of his present and future is something he’d realized he doesn’t know, and the sheer potential stretching out in all directions would be staggering, if not for the way so much of it seems grounded in the young man who looks at him with the same certainty he always has, like he’s always known there was more than what Len had resigned himself to.

It’s terrifying. It’s thrilling. And he _wants_...

**⚡️**

The thief’s attention wandered back across the water. “So much,” he echoed Barry’s earlier words, though the corner of his mouth lifted in acknowledgment of the pithy repetition. The silence between them stretched again, not awkward but anticipant. Len inclined his head, indicating that he was still thinking through his answer, and resumed walking at a slower pace. Barry followed suit alongside him, watching as the smallest things about Len’s posture registered. How he rubbed his thumb against the pads of his fingertips in a thoughtful fidget, how his chin tilted as he considered, jaw worked ever-so-slightly as he seemed to test the shape of words against his tongue and teeth before he spoke them aloud.

“I don’t know,” Len finally said, “but I think I want to give myself time to figure that out. Funny thing, spent my whole life ‘til now figuring out how to carve out the place in the world I thought I needed. Wanted.” His arms finally unfurled from their protective clutch against his torso, one falling to where Barry knew the cold gun rested against the thief’s thigh (and he didn’t worry about Len using it). “Not a crook in this city or its neighbors would cross me, and I’ve earned that in both fear and respect. I’ve done reprehensible things to achieve that, Barry. To people who deserved it, yes, but to some who didn’t. To you.”

Len’s attention had briefly returned to Barry beside him, but it was clear that the motion, the forward momentum and indirect focus were necessary for him to say what he needed. Barry could understand all too well.

“I know,” was all Barry could answer.

“Do you?” Len asked, sharper and Colder than he’d been all evening; that cruelty regarded Barry in the clip of their pace, and for a moment he thought the thief would stop and face him. 

“I do, probably more than you want me to,” Barry admitted, and that earned him more of the other man’s attention. He didn’t need prompting to explain. “Back when I asked for your help the first time, I read a lot of what was out there before I erased it. Not everything, but enough. I know you didn’t hurt innocents, and that you didn’t harm people because you got off on it. You did what you had to in order to survive. I can’t endorse it all, but I can understand it. I can empathize.”

Too many conversations with Oliver—some more like tense disagreements, really—had broadened Barry’s perspective on just how many shades of gray there were in the world. His experience since becoming the Flash had only helped reinforce it, and marked Len as the rare anomaly that he was; good despite his circumstances, with so much potential for more. Trying to be better.

Len said nothing beside him, so Barry continued. “I asked the Legends—Gideon, mostly—to share the records of the missions you’d done together,” he glanced aside with a little smile. 

Footage of the Legends laughing together over dinner had stuck out in beautiful dissonance. Of how Len had leaned across the table to offer a toast to Professor Stein, the way Sara had pointed at him in accusation and the thief had held up his hands with a playful smile, how Jax had given him guff like a sibling while Kendra watched in quiet amusement, Rip rolling his eyes, and how Ray, beside Mick, had cheerfully engaged them all in the conversation like he’d known them for ages and they were the best of friends. How at ease Len had seemed without the usual barbed veneer.

How handsomely that potential fit on him.

“I’ve said it before, and you keep proving me right so I’ll say it again, there’s good in you. More than I think you give yourself credit for,” Barry tilted his head, trying to capture Len’s eyeline, but the thief resolutely said nothing, though his lips pressed together a bit. Closing himself off behind the comfort of a veneer, his hard-struck persona once again. 

And Barry remembered how the Speed Force had once appeared to him wearing Leonard Snart’s visage, declaring that the thief had thought himself capable of being more, being a hero, _sacrificed himself_ , because of Barry. 

It had haunted him, because even without knowing truly, part of him was sure it was right, and Barry didn’t know how to reconcile that with all the rest of this just yet. 

Only that he had to try.

“So, y’know, like I said, you’re gonna have to deal with it because I still like you,” Barry teased gently, lightening the direction of his words and his thoughts as he nudged into Len’s shoulder beside him. 

Even glancing sidelong at him, he could see how Cold melted back into Snart, through to Leonard, and finally back to just Len.

The thief’s lips quirked in a little smile, the one that was closer to real, though his gaze remained slightly forward and downcast. “I suppose I’ve noticed that too.”

Barry’s heart took a swing around his ribcage.

“Should I repeat my earlier question, Barry?” Len finally looked at him, “Or will you tell me what you really want now?”

  
  


❄️

Beside him, Barry’s gait slowed, then stopped. The speedster drew the reclaimed transit case in front of him, absently looking down at it and brushing his thumb across its latches, a gesture to divert attention or perhaps calm himself; probably both. Len took a few steps more, turning to face him at a polite distance (but not too polite; as ever, the edge of propriety bowed between them but Len wouldn’t be the one to break it), granting his patience now as Barry found his words.

The streetlights above them shouldn’t be flattering, but even here, Barry was devastatingly handsome. Every inch of him like a barely-contained storm, from the artful disarray of his hair to the sharp peak of his brow, the cut of the fitted jacket and low v-neck of his shirt slashed across skin revealing moles and freckles that Len wanted to map with the dedication of an astronomer’s study of constellations. All the way down to where the speedster’s toe lightly scuffed the sidewalk, all nerves seeking soothing.

Len would give it to him, if he asked.

Len would give him anything, if he asked, and that should terrify him.

It doesn’t.

In the things Len has rearranged and analyzed and recognized in himself these past few years, months, weeks, days, hours—the things he’s realized about Barry now occupy the same categorization as a force of nature, of certainty, of reassurance.

No, Len isn’t terrified, but he isn’t sure how to classify the unsteady churn roiling through him now as he waits for Barry to take his invitation to lead.

 _Hope_ , it occurs to him; he’d forgotten what that felt like, but of course Barry had summoned it, just as he did the impossible as if it were as natural as breathing.

Len doesn’t look away as hazel eyes seek him out, the furrow of Barry’s all-too-open heart settled tight on his brow and heavy in his gaze.

“I want _you_ ,” Barry answered, speaking the words that have been a litany in Len’s mind for far longer than he’s wanted to admit.

It sent Len’s pulse thundering, and Barry’s words followed like more lightning. 

“I want you to be part of my life in every way you’re willing to be, and right now more than anything I really want to kiss you,” Barry declared, heartfelt and raw and entirely unassuming.

Len wouldn’t control his slow, inviting smile even if he could. “Then kiss me, Barry.”

After having followed Len’s lead almost all night, Barry finally took charge again. 

Distantly, Len registered a muffled _thunk_ announcing that Barry dropped the transit case, but he didn’t care. Can’t, when every sense is dedicated to the feeling of nimble, determined fingers framing his jaw and guiding him as Barry replaced the atmosphere around Len with himself. Barry’s lips sought Len’s with the certainty of returning home, and Len’s eyes fell shut with the first confident brush of Barry’s tongue.

Len pulled Barry to him, hands anchoring on the speedster’s waist, and he set to memorizing the exquisite shape and sensation of Barry’s kiss.

Voices raised in salacious cheers and a loud wolf-whistle cut through the night as a car passed by on the road, and Len _felt_ the shape of Barry’s laugh before it escaped in a soft gust against his skin. The return of the rest of the world around them was immediate but not invasive, and Len leaned just enough to settle his forehead to the speedster’s. 

“We should get that tech back to the Labs, finish the job,” Len murmured into the breathless silence between them, though neither moved.

“Maybe I don’t wanna stop kissing you yet,” Barry answered him, and the thief chuckled.

 _I want you, more of you, all of you_ —that churning feeling has soared into something that almost threatened to make him light-headed, but Len had never felt so certain and focused on anything in his life.

“Get us to the Labs, Scarlet,” Len chided, giving Barry’s waist an encouraging squeeze, then took a step back lest he stall their progression. “Then get us somewhere so you can continue where you left off. Unless that’s all you intended?”

The smile Barry awarded him with nearly pulled him back in for want to taste the shape of it. “Oh, I’m definitely not done with you yet, Cold,” the speedster answered with an edge of that confidence that always made Len’s pulse race.

“I’d hope not,” Len all-but-purred, smirking as he reached up to capture Barry’s hands from where they’d migrated down to either side of his neck and gently pulled them away. He guided one into a loose hold at his side, while he pulled the other up to brush a kiss against the speedster’s knuckles. “Well?”

Barry looked dazed, gorgeously flushed and like he’d forgotten the rest of the world beyond Len had existed for a moment, which earned a low gratified laugh from the thief.

To think this powerful force of nature gentled by the impossible kindness held in Barry’s heart would stop and start for him; it made that buoyant rush in Len’s chest feel a bit like flying.

The speedster’s grin just grew, and Len caught the moment sparks danced in bright hazel eyes before he was swept into a run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO, YEAH, FEELS!!! many much feels.  
> gosh the most difficult part was not cramming more feels in here but I hope it works to strum the heart for you all the same ♥
> 
> to give y'all an idea of how I initially summarized what this grew out of, my OG outline for this chapter from mmmmmonths ago was literally just: _they smooch, it's great_  
>   
> ... anyway, like I said before, this got wildly out of hand and I hope folks continue to enjoy it!!  
> next chapter is VERY EXTREMELY EXPLICIT~


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Porn with a side of plot and LOTS of feels ahead ♥ A great deal of this has shifted since I began writing this fic, entirely thanks to the influence of someone who's almost single-handedly turned this shitmess of a year into a far more positive thing than it otherwise would have been. I can't write these two, and especially can't write Len, without thinking of how T writes him; as in the dedication, I hope some of these words can express just how very much you've inspired me.
> 
> ANYWAY HOPE Y'ALL ENJOY THESE TWO FINALLY DOIN THE DO

As he ran, Barry held Len as close as he dared; the giddy rush of his speed coursed through him with a jubilant edge of anticipation. 

Len wanted this. Wanted _him_.

It was a matter of moments for him to detour to S.T.A.R. Labs, gently setting Len down only long enough to grab a post-it note, on which Barry scrawled:

“ _MISSION ACCOMPLISHED!_

 _CALL US ONLY IF IT’S AN_ **_EMERGENCY!!_ **

_SEE YOU TOMORROW :)_ ”

He nearly left it at that, but amended with an **_AFTERNOON_** at the end, because Barry was nothing if not a relentless optimist.

Slapping the post-it note onto the transit case, he left it right in front of where Cisco was staring off into space where he sat at the main console; Barry was sure they’d all understand.

Unburdened from the device in its case, Barry gathered Len even closer in his arms and ran again to do precisely as the thief had instructed. Phasing them both through the front door of his apartment, Barry didn’t even care that his place wasn’t as neat or tidy as he might want it to be with a visitor over; it’s lived-in, and if he has his way, Len won’t have the time to worry about the dirty dishes in the sink.

Barry took his time as he began to drop out of his speed, righting Len on his feet once more and sliding a hand around to the back of his head. Then, he eased Len into the last moments of the flow of the Speed Force around him, watching as the thief’s frozen visage registered what he was being shown. What Barry was sharing with him.

It’s with a rare delight that Barry shares his speed with Len like this, a skill he’s still honing to not only insulate anyone he runs with but to allow them to share the perspective from within the Speed Force like only a speedster has. For Len, he supposed it was a bit like being brought into a daydream; seeing the rest of the world slow down around him, synapses catching up to process what Barry’s speed had allowed him to move too quickly for a normal human to register. 

It’s intoxicating to watch as Len catches up, pupils dilating, mouth slightly open in an intake of breath.

Barry pressed into his space, taking the two steps he needed to shove Len against the door with his hand in place to soften the urgent indelicacy of it as Barry wasted no time in kissing him again. The muffled dull impact of weight intermingled with his demanding lips earned a soft groan from the thief that turned Barry _ravenous_. 

Len’s hands framed Barry’s jaw as the speedster crowded against him, the luxurious slide of his earlier kiss giving way to an equally demanding, deliciously rough answer to the sheer _want_ that Barry felt like a newly-awoken sense, focused entirely on Len. Len, who was _here_ and kissing him _back_ like he’s just as gone on all of this as Barry was.

From where his other hand had landed against Len’s chest, Barry slides his touch up along the line of his lapel (a distant echo of how the thief had done so to Barry’s shirt yesterday evening), fingertips meeting warm skin until he’s curling his hand along Len’s neck. The shiver and stagger in Len’s breath is impossible to miss, as is the renewed hunger in his effort to conquer Barry’s mouth. 

_Oh, he likes it when I_ — Barry curled his fingers against Len’s neck, fingernails grazing from his jaw down the column of his skin. The urgency of Len’s hold on Barry drew taut, the resonant sound of a noise trapped at the back of his throat rumbling sweet between them.

One of Len’s hands rose from the anchor of Barry’s jaw, long fingers curling against the back of his head as he gripped in the longer strands and tugged; then, it was Barry’s voice caught on the breath they shared, unworried about how loud he might be. 

Clearly, the thief found it to be encouragement for more.

Barry’s heart leapt again as Len deftly pushed, twisted, _maneuvered_ him with the effortless grace he did everything, undercut with urgency that knocked Barry’s lips free on a moan as his back hit the door in the reversal of their positions. 

Len took full advantage and Barry _reveled_ in it.

One of the thief’s hands remained in a perfectly-tight hold in his hair, guiding Barry’s head as Len’s tongue returned to teach Barry’s mouth how to move for him. His other hand slid beneath the lapel of Barry’s jacket, fingers splayed possessively over his side as the flat of his palm warmed through the thin shirt beneath, thumb pressing and flicking against the hard shape of Barry’s nipple. Then he angled himself closer, and Barry widened his stance to invite Len as near as he could. Len obliged, hips rolling into Barry’s in a perfect drag of friction and _fuck_ —

“ _Len,_ ” Barry groaned, heat racing through him from every point of contact, lingering where the thief’s groin ground into him, hard and hot and _so good_ but there were too many layers of fabric between him and the skin-on-skin he needed. “We should—”

“Maybe,” Len said, speaking against Barry’s lips, “I don’t wanna stop kissing you yet,” he smirked as he repeated the speedster’s own earlier words. It pulled a pleased, surprised laugh out of Barry that he smothered in another series of shorter, increasingly-chaste kisses until they found mutual respite in leaning their foreheads together. For a long moment, they just shared the sound of breathing, until Len’s hand rose from Barry’s chest to resettle along the angle of his jaw.

“I don’t have any expectations, Barry,” Len began, voice hushed in the intimate space between them. “If all we do is just—” he paused to lean in and indulge in another lingering kiss, “—this, tonight, it’s more than enough.”

It’s odd, distantly realizing that he’d never really thought about how this part of things might go; to Barry’s lust-addled mind, everything had skipped over the conversation and gotten right to the part where he was showing off just how fast he could get them out of their clothes with liberal application of his powers and onto the things that didn’t involve many words at all. But then this, too, was part of why he’s found himself insurmountably attracted to this man: Len wasn’t the sort to do this with him flippantly or carelessly or cruelly—no matter what it would be between them (and, _god_ , Barry hopes but doesn’t dare put words to it yet). Barry trusted him beyond that, _knew_ he wouldn’t do something like that. Because Len understood, too, that Barry wasn’t the sort of guy who had casual flings.

That Len’s the one to slow them down feels poetic, _perfect_ , and Barry’s hands reposition from their demanding cling to a gentle affirmation as a swell of more emotion than he’d been expecting catches the breath in the back of his throat. “Me too,” he agreed, and there was almost a shyness creeping around the edges, “I don’t wanna rush anything—” Barry diverted on a soft laugh as one of Len’s brows arched, “— _I know_ —but this isn’t… I don’t want this to be the only night we share like this.”

“What, dressed to impress for a night out conning the mob to pull some modern-day Robin Hood vigilantism?” The thief’s drawl was warm, and Barry grinned at his summation. Len’s expression had lost some of its smoldering lust, softened into a quiet, beautiful contemplative. “We’re on the same page, Scarlet.” His thumb traced a slow back-and-forth across Barry’s cheek, wordless punctuation reinforcing the sentiment.

“Yeah?” Barry’s smile widened, crooked and coy, “Then I should probably tell you as much as I like how you look in this suit, I really wanna get you out of it.”

Len’s gaze grew heavy with that almost-predatory focus, and it kindled hot and low where he was still pressed against Barry. “That sounds like an _excellent_ plan,” he confirmed, his fingers tightening incrementally in Barry’s hair, “especially as I’ll _finally_ get to do the same with you.”

Barry mentally snagged on his phrasing, “Finally?”

Len looked at him like he was sharing a great confidence, sensuality rumbling through his low laugh. “You run around this city turning a color into a fetish, then you spend all night dressed up just for me? Do you have any idea—” Len didn’t break eye contact as his hold tightened and he reclaimed the scant space that had grown between them, pressing and shifting until the unmistakable hardness of his arousal reminded Barry of his own,”—how much, how _long_ I’ve thought about unwrapping you?”

Barry’s breath hitched, “ _God_ please I want you to, yes,” he nearly tripped over his own tongue offering encouragement, wasn’t able to hold back the gasp of another noise as Len ground against him again to reinforce his point. 

“ _Bed_ —we should—bed?” That was about as good as Barry could get with words when his brain was trying to take a vacation while his libido demanded all his attention.

The rumble of Len’s laugh against him is rapidly becoming Barry’s new favorite thing. “Lead the way, Scarlet.”

❄️

It’s a deferential formality for Len to ask Barry to lead to his bedroom; he’d known everything about the speedster’s living situation the instant he looked into Barry Allen, had kept tabs on him over the years and had included it in some of the first information he looked into once he was back in the realm of the living. He’d justified his actions as first knowing his enemy, but then stopped bothering trying to justify anything where the speedster was concerned.

Barry does take the lead, though, pushing off the door and into another lingering kiss before he guided Len by the hand further into the apartment (and it shouldn’t be the sort of thing that the thief lingers on, how the speedster’s fingers look and feel around his own, but Len thinks he’ll remember this moment, this feeling, for as long as he lives). They kicked their shoes off just past the entry, Barry’s soft laugh as he hopped free of his expensive leather boots yet another sound that Len wanted to steal and keep for himself; every one of the speedster’s noises like this, part of him decided, are _his,_ and he coveted them.

Automatic instinctual registration of the environment around him only dulled slightly as Len’s focus centered on the young man smiling back at him over his shoulder, who turned to walk backward and nearly bumped his shoulder into the corner of a hallway transition. Len pulled him close to prevent the blunder, ended up pushing him into it himself moments later as he claimed the speedster’s mouth again in a gloriously unhurried match of tongues and teeth against lips and breath.

The progression past the threshold into Barry’s bedroom is as close to dancing as they’ve ever managed. Len both leads and follows as neither could keep their hands from wandering to touch the other, neither wanting to part long enough to be mindful of direction. 

Barry’s leg bluntly collided with the side of the bed and Len held his waist steady to keep the speedster from toppling. What he had planned requires them to remain upright a little longer. Len took a half-step back, hands remaining firmly planted on Barry’s waist, and he waited for the speedster to blink away his heavy-lidded daze to look at him questioningly.

_He looks like that for me already and we’ve barely done anything yet._

“I think I’d like to get you out of this,” Len suggested, plucking at the fabric of Barry’s jacket, then shirt, “and this.” Len hummed, tilting his head thoughtfully as his fingers slid across soft body-warm cotton clinging to lean muscle, then tucked into the waistline of Barry’s trousers with a slight pull. “These, too,” Len continued, voice dipping low into sensual intent. “Don’t want to make a mess of them, considering how very expensive they all were.”

Barry’s fingers took a loose hold of Len’s lapels, “Then we’re on the same page again.”

An old discomfort jostled against the pleasant anticipation, and Len couldn’t dismiss it entirely; he wasn’t in the habit of sharing intimacy of any sort (nameless flings occupied a utilitarian space in his mind that may as well have coincided with eclipses for their frequency; anything more was too dangerous, and his self-aware expertise was far more appealing than a quick fumble). The part of him that bristled defensively at uninvited contact had uglier roots, written in jagged topology over his skin.

The brush of knuckles along the line of his lapel against his shirt, along his chest, presumed nothing; Barry looked at him as if the ravenous demand between them could be corralled with permission. With certainty. How the speedster managed to make lust look soft and trusting around the edges, Len didn’t know, but to have it focused on him replaced the insecure protest with an unfamiliar eagerness. To give more than take, to share _himself_.

Len answered in action, corner of his mouth quirking up playfully as he captured the speedster’s hands to move them away in order to regain better access for himself. He eased a hand beneath the open breast of Barry’s jacket, guiding him to turn as Len leaned in and lavished attention on the long column of his neck. He slid the jacket off Barry’s shoulders as he grazed teeth beneath jaw, guiding him to turn again to press a kiss against his nape. There was no proper way to hang things, so the small chair tucked against a desk would have to do; Len draped the jacket across its back in an easy motion, glad he didn't need to move far to do so.

He could feel Barry wanting to turn around, so Len interrupted the movement to press himself against Barry’s back instead, arms around his waist and palms flat against his slender torso. It’s a decadent sensation Len had thought about with their little game the night prior, and is pleased to find Barry fits against him like this just as well as he does when they’re chest-to-chest, too.

The speedster’s hands clutched at his forearms and Len hummed as he brushed another kiss against Barry’s neck, encouraging and appreciative; it earned him another lovely soft noise he tucked into his memory greedily, _mine_.

Len took his time trailing his touch down until he lifted at the hem of Barry’s shirt, fingers traversing beneath the thin fabric to begin an unhurried exploration of skin that felt invitingly warm. He lingered in the caresses until Barry’s breathing hitched unsteadily in a soft moan of the thief’s name that sent possessive heat curling through him. Len finally pulled the shirt up and over Barry’s head, flinging it across the back of the chair with far less concern than its tailored predecessor. When Len’s hands returned to Barry’s skin, he resisted the temptation to continue exploring and instead hooked his thumbs beneath the waistband of the trousers slung temptingly low across the speedster’s hips. 

The gratifying feeling of Barry’s abdomen jumping, seemingly reflexive in response to his touch, earned another low chuckle that Len buried against the speedster’s neck, and he reveled in the way Barry leaned back against him. “Ticklish,” Barry said by way of explanation, though he sounded almost breathless.

“Hm,” Len hummed thoughtfully, “perhaps a firmer touch, then.” Len’s grip tightened enough to abruptly pull Barry back against him, one hand steady on Barry’s hip as the other palmed at the straining length of his cock where his already-tight trousers begged to be loosened. 

The noise the speedster made then _was_ breathless. “ _Len,_ ” he pleaded (and _that_ was a sound the thief desperately wanted more of, too), arching as he ground himself back against Len, and then _vibrated_. 

All of Len’s methodical intent scattered at the sensation of Barry half-speed-blurred and all but grinding himself against Len’s still far-too-clothed arousal. Len’s eyes went wide, then rolled shut as he tipped forward, _hard_ , against the speedster in a sudden, surprised groan.

Barry’s voice went tight with panic, “Shit, sorry—”

“Don’t apologize unless you’re planning on stopping,” Len growled, “ _God_ , Barry, what just happened?”

“I, uh,” Barry started, and Len flattened his palms against Barry’s stomach in what he hoped would reassure the speedster, turning his head to press his lips against skin again. 

“I kinda vibrate sometimes when I get really aroused.”

_Fuck_

“I’ll take it as a compliment, then,” Len murmured, and Barry’s hands covered his own. He could feel the speedster pull in a breath like he intended to say more, but when he didn’t continue, Len prompted, “Any other surprises?”

Barry’s head fell back against Len’s shoulder, turning toward him so they could make eye contact, and his lip-bitten grin was all impossibly-alluring coy confidence. “You want me to tell you, or show you?”

For the third time that night, Len threw away the plan in favor of the bold speedster.

“Show me,” Len invited, and Barry’s grin _smoldered_. Len had expected to then be caught up in his speed; he wasn’t expecting the slow guidance of Barry’s hand entwining their fingers until their joined palms were facing toward them so Len could watch whatever he intended to do.

“Tell me if this feels okay?” Barry glanced at the thief holding him, extending his pointer finger as he gently brushed it across Len’s palm, and then did

_something_

that made Len’s nerves jump, coming alive as if they’d just discovered how to function; it wasn’t unpleasant, just unexpected. 

He immediately wanted to feel it again.

“That all?” Len challenged, feeling his pulse thundering faster.

The look he got in return was a little bolder, and then Barry did _whatever it was_ again; this time, it was _definitely_ pleasant, and the flicker of power he saw in the speedster’s eyes seemed to echo a momentary spark where he felt the sensation scatter across his palm.

“It’s… I can kinda control where it goes, but when I get, uh, really into things… it kinda happens sometimes, too. I can mostly stop that, though, if it bothers you?” Len could feel the concern tightening slightly through Barry’s frame, and Len wanted nothing more than to banish it.

“I’ll take it as a compliment when I get you to do more of that, too,” Len answered, finally turning Barry in his arms as he guided him into another kiss; the edge of his want dulled against the strange realization that Barry was _nervous_ , that he was worried about his powers as an unquantifiable variable that might chase Len away instead of how they were inextricably linked in the way he couldn’t help but gravitate toward the speedster.

Curling his fingers under Barry’s chin, Len guided him away just enough to offer reassurance and invitation. “Much as I’d like to keep savoring this, I think perhaps I wouldn’t mind if you used those powers of yours to speed things along for both of us,” Len said, his smirk closer to a private smile than he cared to quantify. “Go on, Flash. Show off for me like I know you’ve been dying to.”

Truthfully, Len couldn’t get enough of seeing Barry show off either, but even better was the dazzling grin that answered him just before he saw the telltale spark of cosmic lightning in Barry’s eyes. 

Len could tell he’d gained much greater control over the years; the initial dizzying disorientation of being subjected to Barry’s powers had given way into a much smoother transition. The way Barry had eased them back into the moment upon their arrival had been unlike anything before it, almost as if he was sharing the tail-end of that vast power in as small a dose as a human could handle.

Now, it felt as if Barry did so again, but with sensual intent. 

Len reflexively wanted to close his eyes at the sensation of being touched in more places than one person could reach at once, gentle caresses and perfunctory maneuvering intermingled. Goosebumps rose in the wake of hot breath against his neck, phantom nails dragging feather-light over his shoulder, and the gust of displaced air from all the movement is less unsettling because he realizes he’s been drawn into the speed of it. Instead of blinking to miss it all, Len realized Barry was somehow sharing these moments between the seconds with him, and it would be unsettling if not for his certainty that the speedster is doing so _entirely_ for Len, and Len alone.

This force of nature shaped into a man, bending the laws of the universe to please a thief.

As Barry resolved into a solid form again, gorgeous and bare, his expression held a fond reverence that Len at once covets and rebukes. It’s been a long time since Len felt so keenly undeserving, but in this, too, Barry somehow quelled that lashing outcry into something tentatively hopeful.

“Hey,” Barry said, warm and private with a touch of shy, like he hadn’t just done the impossible on Len’s whim and was still unsure of just how devastatingly beautiful he was. 

Len’s chest twisted, his want for so much nearly a physical force that felt near to bursting free.

“Much better,” Len answered, feeling horribly near to the fraying edge of emotions he didn’t dare interrogate now. Barry’s little smile blossomed and took root right in Len’s heart, and Len had to swallow back the thick tide of too many things he wasn’t at all ready to confront.

“Thought I told you to stop looking at me like that, I’ve got a reputation to maintain,” Len reminded Barry, his voice emerging rougher than he’d anticipated. It’s a token protest, at best; he never wants Barry to stop looking at him like that. 

Never.

Barry’s arched brow and smirk announced his answer before he challenged, “Make me.”

Happily, Len obliged. 

The speedster’s show of ability left no barriers between them, so Len’s demanding hands found and guided Barry to him again, this time in the perfect friction of skin against skin. His mouth captured the speedster’s just as another of those delicious vibrating shivers skated through him, and they both lost a moan in the kiss between them.

Len pushed enough to finally topple Barry back onto the bed, and the sprawl of him against his bedsheets—all long, lean physique with a scatter of moles and freckles across his skin, dark hair in disarray and lips kiss-swollen, cock angled anticipant and lust-darkened eyes on at Len as if he had never seen anything better— _damn_ , he looked like an impossible dream.

Len hasn’t felt so aroused, so attracted, so _focused_ on another person, since… 

_Ever. It’s never been like this._

**⚡️**

Barry had been so focused on being careful and attentive as he undressed Len that he didn’t truly get to look at him, not like he could now. 

They hadn’t bothered to turn on any lights, but they don’t need them; the soft moonlight filtered through the sheer curtains over Barry’s windows may as well have been tailored to Len, fitting almost as well as the suit had (and, _God,_ much as he appreciated the slow tease of Len taking his time, Barry thought he was going to cry if he had to wait in agony for each button of the thief’s shirt to come undone at the same unhurried pace). Cool blue-white hugged the thief’s skin in ethereal curves and planes that Barry drank in the sight of.

He wanted to say something, tell Len how amazing he looked, how amazing he _was_ , but none of the words that come to mind do justice to him.

Len braced a knee onto the mattress as he reclaimed the space over Barry, and even though he wasn’t attenuating the moment with his powers, it felt a bit like the world slowed around them; all else fell away that wasn’t Len, determined heat in his gaze as he looked down at Barry as if everything that mattered began and ended with him.

Barry reached for Len to draw him down even as he impatiently levered himself up off the mattress, needing to say with actions what he still couldn’t find words for. Needing to touch and taste and _feel_. Len met his lips halfway, then pressed Barry back down with the delicious friction of bare skin. 

Len rolled his hips down against Barry’s, and the resultant vibration that raced through him nearly surprised Barry with its intensity; he gasped out of where Len’s lips slid away from his own, spreading his thighs wider to hook his ankles over Len’s legs and return the gesture as his hands clung to the thief. Though it wasn’t the uncoordinated ravenous demand he’d felt clawing for more the instant he’d pinned Len to the door earlier, there was a needy edge to how Barry angled himself against Len; _had_ to feel him, as much as he could, everywhere he could reach. Hot breath at his throat was all the forewarning he got before Len followed with teeth and tongue, and Barry _doesn’t_ worry about being loud.

The encouraging rumble he heard and felt from the thief above him was affirmation enough that Len appreciated it, too.

Propped up on his elbows, Len didn’t seem in any hurry to relinquish his sensuous advantage, and Barry didn’t mind it at all; it meant his hands could roam, finally explore the expanse of bare skin he’d only ever wondered about. He doesn’t linger on the scars, though his fingertips identify the interruption of texture, instead seeking out where his touch might elicit more of the same reaction he’d gotten from paying attention to Len’s neck. He raked his nails lightly down Len’s chest, pausing to test the edge of his thumb against a nipple (Len bucked down against him, breath hitching), then continued downward to drag through coarse hair.

Another gorgeous noise emerged from the thief, emboldening Barry to continue taking initiative. Hand sliding between the press of their hips, Barry curled his fingers around Len’s cock and touched him with possessive reverence. Len’s immediate reaction (another bitten-off sound that might have been Barry’s name) made Barry wish he could see his face better, even though the feeling of him like this was divine.

As if understanding that unspoken want, Len heaved himself up enough that his mouth ceased its wonderful assault on Barry’s skin, the loss of it soothed by the flushed intensity he regarded the speedster with. His eyes fell shut as Barry squeezed his grip, twisting and circling to make the most of the angle, and Len looked down to watch with half-lidded appreciation. 

_Let’s see if he likes this, too..._

Barry bit his lip, grinning a little, and ever-so-slightly vibrated his hand. 

Len muffled a surprised moan as his head dropped to Barry’s shoulder, and Barry’s hand stilled in a gentle hold. 

“ _Fuck,_ " Len growled against Barry’s skin, and the speedster’s concern was immediately assuaged as he continued, “you keep that up, I’m going to steal the title of fastest man alive from you, Scarlet.” 

The rueful humor in his voice had Barry laughing, “So that was okay?”

“More than,” Len huffed, propping himself back up to look down at Barry, then distracting him with another kiss as he gently guided Barry’s hand away from his hold, fingers wrapping around his wrist and easing it down onto the pillow above him. There was less finesse, more _want_ this time, and it nearly made Barry shiver again to feel how Len’s tight-wound control had begun to slip. Even so, Len managed to hold himself still as he tilted back enough to look down at the speedster. “What do you want, Barry?”

The race of responses was much like it had been earlier, but he let himself speak through the first that came to mind.

“Anything,” Barry breathed, “whatever you want, Len, I trust you.”

He meant every word; meant more than he knew how to say.

The thief’s eyes shut and it was clear there was something in Barry’s response that affected him; Barry hoped it was good. “Dangerous to say things like that to a man like me,” he said softly, and the edge Barry could read in his expression and words was brittle vulnerability.

For the second time that night, it seemed the thief retreated into himself at the idea that Barry truly felt how he did, so Barry reinforced his words. “I mean it. I know you wouldn’t do or ask anything that’d hurt me, and if I have a problem I’ll tell you. Just like I trust you’d tell me, too.”

Len looked at him again like he shouldn’t exist, like he didn’t trust words to say what he felt but needed to reaffirm it as he captured Barry in another kiss that left both of them breathless.

Good sense and safety knocked somewhere insistent at the corner of his thoughts and finally gained enough traction that Barry licked away from Len’s lips. “I’m—clean bill of health, kinda can’t get anything as far as I know anymore.”

Len hummed, following the train of conversation with an affirmation of his own. “Gideon tells me I’m perfectly healthy for a man who was dead until recently.” The dark humor helps lift away the sting of it, but Barry’s free hand reached to curve against Len’s cheek.

He was here and _alive_ and they were doing this; Barry’s heart ran a third marathon as he let himself linger in processing all of it.

“Feel plenty alive to me, but I wouldn’t mind feeling more,” Barry breathed, and Len muffled his laugh against Barry’s lips.

“Feel all you want,” the thief invited as he arched and rolled down onto Barry again, and the combination of words and actions nearly derailed Barry’s higher functions in favor of just begging Len to do that _again_. 

More than his own pleasure, though, Barry wanted to focus on Len’s.

It was more than enough encouragement for Barry to give into another impulse as he surged into his speed. 

❄️

The momentary disorientation of being repositioned left Len only slightly dazed. He found himself on his back, now, with Barry straddling him and wearing a confident grin that threatened to steal Len’s breath. The look was one he’d associated first with how it was framed by his cowl, when the Flash awarded him a similar dazzling moment of determination and impossible optimism. Seeing it now, he thinks it’s yet another thing he wants to keep for himself.

Just like everything else about the speedster.

Barry’s hands wandered across Len’s torso, and Len found himself again relieved that his attention didn’t linger on the scars. It wasn’t insecurity he felt, but the complicated tangle of history that each had mapped into his skin wasn’t something that lent well to enjoying himself; that Barry put him at ease was just another way that everything about this, about _him_ , departed from what Len knew how to expect. 

As the speedster took advantage of his new position to lean down and catch Len in an unhurried kiss, Len’s touch wandered across Barry’s skin. The muffled laugh against his lips that finally broke Barry away from him announced that he’d found another ticklish spot, and Barry leveled a look of wicked mischief at him as he moved away, began moving _down_. “You’re not ticklish, are you?” Barry accused between kisses delivered to Len’s chest.

Len smirked down at him, “More fun for both of us if you figure that out on your own.” 

He chuckled as he felt the abrupt gust of Barry’s soft laughter against the skin of his stomach, the speedster’s fingers trailing light touches along Len’s sides in an effort to evoke a reaction. Len just propped himself up on an elbow for a better vantage, arching a brow in challenge. 

Barry reached a little higher, but Len remained unaffected. At least, in that he wasn’t ticklish. 

What did finally earn a reaction was when Barry brushed his touch along Len’s length again, his downward descent positioning him lower on the mattress and leaving no question as to his destination. The impish mischief had melted away, leaving that softer determination behind. Len’s mouth dropped open slightly as Barry held his gaze and licked out, over the head of his cock, then sucked it past his lips. It shouldn’t surprise him that Barry seemed to focus his efforts in intimacy with the same degree of selfless abandon he did everything else, but it nearly winded Len to feel the speedster adjusting and moving in response to him, _just_ for him.

It was the most erotic thing Len had ever seen, and it _felt_ —

“ _God,_ Scarlet, your mouth,” Len offered in faint praise, half-murmured as he watched, transfixed, and went tense with the effort not to thrust up.

Barry’s eyes momentarily closed as he descended even further, fingers twisting along his shaft lower still, and the hand he’d held braced on Len’s hip reached up for one of Len’s hands. The thief had a moment of confusion, but shifted his weight rest fully on the other arm as he allowed Barry to guide him and, _oh_ , nested his fingers into Barry’s hair. 

The speedster rose off of Len enough to kiss down along his spit-slick cock, looking back up at him. “I like it when you get a hold on my hair like you did before,” he admitted, voice already a little rough.

Len’s cock twitched in Barry’s hold, and he grinned up at Len like he’d just discovered something marvelous. “Glad you seem to like it too,” he murmured against Len, then continued the sentiment with his tongue and lips without words at all.

Len’s hold in Barry’s hair tightened experimentally, immediately earning a responsive hum as Barry followed the gesture’s direction.

It was taking every shred of Len’s remaining composure to keep himself steady, though his breathing hitched uneven as Barry’s thumb pressed low and massaged behind his balls, the cradle of his fingers rolling him and— _fuck_ —a sensation unlike any Len had felt before tonight _vibrated_ against him, and Len had to bite down on a groan.

Barry’s gaze up at him shifted into questioning, and Len panted out, “Good, _fuck_ that’s good, Barry, just like that,” and his chin dipped in a deep intake of breath as Barry repeated it, bobbing down on Len’s cock. This time, Len couldn’t hold back the noise of appreciative surprise as it felt like his body learned how to feel pleasure for the first time, ignited out from everywhere Barry touched.

The part of Len’s mind that devoured information and twisted it into tactical advantages helpfully supplied that something about the speedster’s powers must be firing through Len’s synapses, a perfect storm of localized pleasure, and of course he’d never felt anything like this before because nothing like this was _possible_ before Barry Allen ran into his life. His litany of constant counts and countermeasures that always held steady through Len’s mind began to fray, and he reflexively bucked his hips as Barry’s thumb increased pressure just behind where he could feel his balls drawing tighter against his groin. “ _Barry,_ ” he warned, _pleaded_ , fingers tightening in the speedster’s hair. 

He felt the shape of Barry’s lips curve into a smile around him, which, _fuck_ , and then the speedster vibrated his mouth as he swallowed him down.

Len swore, breath punched out in a half-formed articulation that he couldn’t have recounted to save his life, every coherent thing scattering as the thin edge of his control threatened to snap. The soft chestnut strands between his fingers were anchor enough to keep his shred of cognizance, and he pulled, insistent, _needed_ Barry to stop before he came apart like this because he wanted—

Barry seemed reluctant to relinquish his attention, but followed; Len wasted no time in hooking a leg around the speedster, leveraging their positions to roll until Barry was pinned beneath him again. Len kissed the gasp out of his mouth, faintly tasting himself there, but was determined to make this first foray into more with his speedster last.

First of what Len wanted to be more, many; countless.

Wanted Barry to be his as much as he felt himself coveting the idea of Barry wanting the same, to call Len ‘ _mine_.’

Barry rolled up into the sensation of Len atop him and threatened to push Len past his tightly-held control again before he was ready; that wouldn’t do. Len gathered Barry’s hands in his own, pressing them down into the mattress above the speedster’s head, and got enough distance that Barry couldn’t chase after him as Len dragged his teeth across that swollen lower lip.

“How do you want to come for me, Scarlet?”

The question clearly took the speedster by surprise, and Barry’s eyes squeezed shut as he tipped his head back, “ _God,_ Len, that’s—how are you so—” he bit his lip, wrenching his eyes open again to look at the thief. “As long as it’s you, can I—I want to see you.”

It was an answer without offering any specific guidance, and Barry’s earlier words still haunted part of Len’s heart that clutched at them like they might fade away if he didn’t; _‘Anything, whatever you want, Len, I trust you._ ’

Something resonated in him at it, something deeper and more sentimental than he allowed himself to linger in.

“I’m right here, Barry, you’ll see all of me you want,” Len offered into another kiss, and the frantic edge of need had shifted again into something less-hurried but no less intense, left him breathing hard as he rested their foreheads together.

“Wanna feel more of you,” Barry replied, voice still husky, “if you want. I—”

Len’s pulse was already knocking at the back of his throat as he waited for Barry to finish his thought, watching as the speedster’s unique sort of shy determination kept his words tumbling out instead of remaining unspoken.

“—It’s been a while, but the last few times I got off, I thought about what it’d feel like if it was you inside me instead of just my fingers.”

Len groaned, dropping his forehead back down to Barry’s as his own eyes fluttered shut at the admission. At the thought of how Barry had touched himself thinking of Len, had probably done so in this very bed. How many times? What else had he done? Countless questions he could ask later.

“Yes,” Len affirmed, finally regaining his wherewithal and pressing a quick kiss of reassurance between words. “Would have taken you on that damn table last night if I’d known you wanted this, Barry.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Barry hissed, and Len chuckled as he propped himself up enough to smirk down at the speedster.

“That’s the idea, isn’t it?” Len damn-near purred, and couldn’t hold back a smile at the mixture of a groaned laugh that got in reaction.

Barry pushed himself up enough that Len needed to reposition, and like clouds crossing the sun, the atmosphere between them shifted. 

“Yeah, that too,” Barry answered, lingering in one last kiss before he glanced toward the bedside table and Len suspected he knew precisely where the speedster’s plan led.

Len hummed, “Allow me,” as he pressed a hand to the center of Barry’s chest to keep him from moving. Len leaned enough to reach for the drawer, tugging it open and glancing within. Most of its contents he expected, and he reached for the bottle of lubricant, but he lingered as he saw something else. Len lifted the lube out and tossed it onto the bed, but then pulled the other item out as well.

“Should I be worried about my competition?” Len drawled, holding up the cool icy blue silicone of a motorized dildo. 

Even in the soft indirect moonlight, Len could tell the speedster was blushing red enough to give his nickname another layer. “No?”

Len hummed again, twisting his hand to get a good look at the toy, then squinted at the raised lettering molded into the base of its flared handle. “ ‘ _Cold Cocked_ ,’ “ he read, drawl ramping up into dry amusement.

Barry reached for it, but Len’s hand on his chest kept the speedster from successfully snatching the thing away. Len knew if Barry truly intended to take it from him, he could; it seemed, however, he was either too adorably flustered or too happy to play along to use his powers to do so, and Len was even more charmed by that.

“Pretty sure I was just saying I’d much rather have the real thing,” Barry retorted, regaining some of his confidence with a gloriously enticing edge of sensuality. “Unless you wanna do something else?”

Len’s smirk softened, and he gently lobbed the toy back into the drawer before settling himself more fully in Barry’s lap. “No, I’d rather stick to my plan of doing _you.”_

“I think that’s my favorite plan of yours yet,” Barry said, nipping at Len’s neck and threatening to derail the thief’s new aims.

**⚡️**

Any embarrassment Barry might have felt about Len finding the dildo was far outshone by the surreal, wonderful reality that Len was teasing him about a dildo thematically linked to him with the full, actual intention of giving Barry a much better experience than a silicone toy could ever hope to. Still, he didn’t bother trying to fight down the blush that had mingled sudden unexpected surprise with his already aroused flush; he was too focused on Len to care.

Len, who kept kissing him like he couldn’t get enough of him, and who guided Barry down to resettle after he tugged the bedspread away, cool sheets now at his back with the gorgeous thief kneeling over him.

Barry’s hand bumped against the bottle of lube ( _I’m so glad I got more last time I went to the store_ ) and he held it up with a playful grin; not like he wasn’t about to take another chance to show off. He vibrated his hand just enough to agitate the molecules, friction warming them. “No more cold lube,” he explained, and the look Len was giving him seemed equal parts amused and fond.

“Handy,” Len commented, plucking the bottle out of Barry’s fingers as he leaned forward to steal another kiss. By the time Barry was breathing heavy from the intoxicating assault of attention, Len had reached down and begun circling a slick finger around his entrance.

It was perfect and wonderful and not nearly enough.

“Mm,” Barry hummed encouragement, Len braced over him and focused on his expression as his finger continued stroking, unhurried and tantalizing. “Not that I don’t appreciate the foreplay, but I’m pretty sure you’re gonna be putting my refractory period to the test as it is,” Barry said as he twisted his hips against the sensation.

“Oh?” Len arched a curious brow, and if anything the slick press of his finger _slowed down_.

“I usually get off two or three times when it’s just by myself,” Barry admitted, gauging Len’s reaction as he reached down to squeeze at the base of where his erection remained insistent, pressure helping stave off his want to rut against where Len was tantalizingly close. 

The thief regarded him with curious intensity, gaze lingering on Barry’s hand on himself before flicking back up to Barry’s eyes, “So you’re going to be coming for me several times tonight, is that right?”

Barry bit his lip, nodding as the flurry of _holyshitfuckyesplease_ resolved back into something coherent. “Yeah,” and because he can’t not be honest, he continued, “...nearly did just going down on you.”

He could hear the rush of Len’s swift intake of breath before it’s hissed out in a low, “ _Fuck_ , Barry.”

“That’s the idea, isn’t it?” Barry grinned a little breathlessly, then his mouth fell open as Len obliged in finally pressing his finger _in_ and it’s still not nearly enough, but it’s on the way to _better_.

Barry reached down, sliding his fingers alongside where Len’s pressed into him, and he shuddered into another appreciative moan. “More, c’mon,” he instructed, half-tempted to reach for the lube himself to show Len how fast he liked it.

“Impatient, aren’t you?” Len commented with that purring laugh that sounded a lot like it could strip him bare if he weren’t already out of his clothes. As he pulled his finger out, he slid his thumb along the rim of muscle and it brushed against where Barry’s fingers held just outside; the touch felt illicit, _wonderful_ , and he had to bite his lip to help ground himself as he felt another shiver of his powers threatening to scatter his concentration before he was ready.

“Maybe,” Barry admitted, though he didn’t miss how Len’s attention seemed to linger on watching Barry touch himself. He lifted one thigh higher, sliding his heel against Len’s side, as he reached to press against himself alongside where Len’s knuckles brushed against his skin. “When I do this, sometimes I like to just…”

Barry’s eyes fell shut as he nudged into his powers enough to move his hand, the sensation of his own touch a flurry of quick pressure that hummed right through his nerves.

Len’s hands on him momentarily went still, then he felt a second finger sliding in, twisting, and pressing up in a fluid motion so sudden, Barry couldn’t stop himself from bucking down as a hoarse noise caught in the back of his throat.

“Gorgeous,” Len praised as he worked his fingers inside, “How close are you, Barry?” Len’s voice emerged like it was fighting through gravel, and Barry had to look at him. The thief was gazing down at him with a focus that made the speedster feel like the other man could see into every corner of him and wanted _all_ of it. It made Barry feel light-headed.

“I’m—” Len’s finger moved, crooked against that spot within him that nearly derailed his response, “ _yeah_ , fuck, ‘m close. Could get off on you just doing that, just watching you,” he trailed off, knowing how near he was to tipping into more babble that would very likely just be professing how he couldn’t believe this was happening and _please don’t stop_.

That hum Len made as he was thinking and pleased about something coincided with the sensation of the thief brushing another kiss against Barry’s skin before he leaned back, shifting to kneel as his fingers flexed. “Good,” Len said, his other hand busied with something that Barry could hear involved the bottle of lube again, but couldn’t see. “Tell me when you’re nearly there,” he instructed, and Barry began to nod but interrupted himself in another pleased moan as slick fingers fisted around his cock.

Len approached this as it seemed he did everything, with a methodical precision and keen attentiveness that had those clever, dextrous fingers testing, learning, refining every touch until Barry could only manage soft sounds of appreciative encouragement as he fought to keep his eyes open. Len worked him open as he twisted his grip over Barry’s length, keen gray-blue focused entirely on him and responding almost as if he knew what Barry wanted even before the speedster did. Anticipant tension wound tight enough that his muscles shook even without his powers, but the frisson of vibrations he couldn’t hold back began to follow.

“Len,” Barry managed, barely able to get the syllable out around another wordless moan, much less clarify he was doing as the thief had asked, telling him he was almost—

“Let me see you, Barry, come for me,” Len invited as his fingers curled and _pressed,_ the grip of his hand around Barry going just-tight-enough, and it was all he could do to keep himself from shaking apart as his orgasm raced through him.

Barry returned to himself after a long moment when he wasn’t entirely sure if he’d slid into his speed or not, dragging in lungfuls of air as he reached for Len and the thief’s slick fingers caught his hands. Prying his eyes open, he realized he hadn’t been in his speed, but he also hadn’t expected things to be that intense.

_It’s because it was him_

He couldn’t settle on words, so he aimed for the next-best thing and pulled Len down into a demanding, artless crash of lips, tongue sliding past where his teeth grazed as the trapped sound of his voice wordlessly offered appreciation, invited more. Len followed gracefully, soothing where Barry felt unrefined, and he didn’t bother trying to account for how long it was before either of them separated again.

“All right there, Scarlet?” Len asked, fond teasing in his tone.

“So much more than all right,” Barry huffed, grinning at the thief as he grazed his fingernails over his skin. “Ready for more, if you are,” he answered, arching a brow in playful challenge that earned him a snort.

“I’m always ready for you,” Len taunted warmly, shifting his weight over Barry until he guided Barry’s thighs a little wider, nipping just below the speedster’s jaw as the blunt sensation of his cock brushed against where Barry wanted him.

“Len, _please_ ,” was all Barry could think to say, the residual haze of his orgasm already reigniting new arousal that had him reaching for Len, guiding the press of him. 

Len needed no further prompting, one of his hands remaining against Barry’s shoulder as his other brushed against where Barry held his length, fingers interlacing to guide him in. Barry shifted his fingers, holding himself open and as steady as he could as the slight burn and stretch of Len finally, _finally_ , slid into him. Len’s thorough attentiveness coupled with his post-orgasm relaxation helped ease what little discomfort chased after the initial push, and Barry let loose a sigh he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in as Len filled him, stilling when he could go no further.

It felt decadent and luxurious, looking up at the thief who’d stolen his heart without seeming to intend to; for Len to be breathing shallow and already glistening with a sheen of sweat as he steadied his hands against Barry and watched him with a raw, fragile fondness laced with the heat of their shared attraction. 

Barry’s hands sought out Len’s, dislodging his hold in favor of entwining their fingers. Len, prescient as ever, leaned down to capture the words Barry hadn’t yet spoken, rolling them back over his tongue until they weren’t needed at all. 

It was Barry who moved first, adapted to the feeling and craving momentum almost as much as he wanted to dedicate himself to all he could that might bring Len pleasure. If there’s a grace in his movement as he stretched and arched, it’s of a primal sort; in this, he doesn’t overthink it, but he cares too much to just ride it out, has to try to do all he can because it's Len.

 _Move, please move, pleasepleaseplease I need to feel you, need you to_ —

“Len,” Barry breathed as if his name could contain the broken tangle of everything he was thinking, soft against the thief’s lips, and it’s as much pleading encouragement as it is permission and demand. 

Len obliged once more, mattress shifting beneath his knees as he began to find his pace.

❄️

The hot clutch of Barry’s body around him found an echo in how the speedster holds his hands, and Len rolled his hips once more before pulling Barry’s hands up, bracing them above his head again to leverage the position into a deeper angle. It’s intoxicating, how responsive and vocal the speedster was at his every action. Len had already made a concentrated study of reading him, but learning the hitch of his breath and flutter of his lashes when he moved _just so_ threatened to become an obsession.

Len wanted to learn every last facet of him, and didn’t care how long it would take.

Barry’s thighs clenched around Len’s waist as he tried to aid in their movement, and the fond quirk of the thief’s smile caught fever-bright hazel eyes. “Let me guess,” Len teased hotly, “you want it faster?”

He could tell from the impatient flex of Barry’s fingers in his, the slight quiver of effort as he twisted his hips; Barry’s body was demanding it, but he still wanted to hear him say it.

“ _Please_ ,” Barry answered as his hips all but yelled affirmation, but Len took his time in another slow roll.

“Please, what?” He asked, as much to enjoy this new way to taunt his hero as it was to help maintain his focus to keep from losing himself in all of it.

He’s gratified at the way Barry’s head tips back as he all-but- _whined_ , the long column of his throat exposed; not one to turn down such an inviting opening, Len hitched Barry a little closer, jostled him in another pointed thrust, then laved attention on his neck. He heard as much as felt the moan as it rattled loose on a sweet vibration that nearly shook the breath out of the thief.

The sensation of him is unlike anything he’d known, and Len realized he could become happily addicted to this if Barry would let him.

“Faster, Len, _please,_ I want —” Barry’s voice was tight, higher with want than Len had expected him to sound, and he felt the speedster’s fingers tighten around his own. “ _Please,_ fuck me like you need me,” Barry answered in a plea that tilted Len’s world on its axis.

The tangle of too much in his chest resolved suddenly, fully, entirely to wanting to ensure Barry _knew_ it. Len gently pulled the fingers of one hand free so he could turn Barry’s face back to him, hold him steady as he tried to make good on fulfilling that and everything else he could possibly give. 

“Look at me, Barry,” Len asked, and Barry was beautiful as he complied. Words wouldn’t come for Len as he tried to offer what he knew he wasn’t ready to say (still wasn’t sure he was truly ready for any of this). When his tongue finally plucked more free, it was through a tightness in the back of his throat that spoke of rare raw honesty. “I do,” Len breathed, hating himself less for admitting it than he might have once. 

_I need you,_ the foreign admission repeated through his mind, and Len didn’t push against how it incorporated into everything else he’d allowed himself to feel about this. About Barry.

_I want you to need me like I can’t help but need you_

Words fell away again as they moved, any grace in their shared efforts more accidental than intentional. Len’s hold on his control was loose, focus unsharp as his mind and body, for once, stopped spinning contingencies and savored the moment. Let himself be subsumed by sensation, enveloped in a world composed solely of Barry. 

As Len learned his rhythms, he began anticipating them; the quake of Barry’s breath as Len’s thrust dragged across the best angle within him, the slight twist of his hips as he tried to ride out the feeling and let loose a beautiful noise as Len repeated the movement with an abrupt return. As Len’s fingers found Barry’s cock once more and kept accompaniment with the conducting guidance of his hips. The gasping words entreating, “ _Yes, please, so good, there, Len, more,_ ” and a litany of less-articulate things that wove into the sweetest sounds he’d ever heard. How the slight vibration had begun to quiver through the speedster’s frame for only milliseconds, gradually increasing as Len realized Barry’s control, too, began to loosen.

Even giving himself into pleasure, the speedster still spared part of his focus to ensure he wasn’t hurting, wasn’t overwhelming Len. His concern with Len’s reaction to how his connection with his speed might have put Len off was far too telling, and Len craved that perfect storm of Barry’s powers licking out just for him.

When the first brush of that power sparked against Len’s skin, the sensation had surprised him. The anticipation of it, now, excited him. Barry’s fingers brushed against Len’s shoulder and he watched the speedster watching him as Barry bit his kiss-swollen lower lip and sought affirmation just before he did it again. 

It’s nothing like electricity; it’s _alive_ , like the jolt of that power sought to awaken every possible degree of what he could feel wherever it scattered across his skin. He answered it with wordless encouragement, even as another part of him that clung to some semblance of control recognized that Barry was pacing it. Was offering those little licks of his power interspersed between spans of twenty-seven seconds, like a concession to the control he understood part of Len still needed.

Another twenty-seven seconds passed, chased by the indescribable ripple of power that raced out over Len’s skin from where the speedster’s touch grounded high on his chest. This, too, could become a dangerous addiction, the sort that left his heart aching if Len wasn’t careful.

_It would be worth it, all of it, for him_

Laid out in the tangled sheets, Barry was a vision of more than Len ever dreamed. The part of him untempered by sense, the primal thing that latched onto the blur of lightning that had resolved into a handsome young man whose every smile breathed life into the world around him, wanted him to be closer. _Needed_ to feel every inch of him as Len devoted his body and being to claiming, _mine_.

Len’s hand released Barry’s length to a momentary sound of protest, moving to grip the speedster to pull him up and against Len’s chest as the thief maneuvered him. Both groaned as the movement caused Len to slide out of the speedster’s tight heat, but Len wasted no time in bracing his back against the bedframe’s headboard as he pulled Barry toward him. Barry’s lips sought his out as he followed, straddling Len’s thighs even as he reached blindly for the thief to guide him back in. Their kiss muffled another shared, wordless groan as they rejoined, Barry sinking down until Len felt consumed by the speedster’s perfect body, surrounded by him; sharing in the giving and taking of one another.

“Barry,” he groaned as another deep thrust sent a wave of pleasure racing through him, “Nearly there,” he panted, realizing only after he’d said it that he wanted to hear that Barry was, too. Even though he could feel it, could read it in every movement, he still wanted to hear it. 

**⚡️**

Barry’s head jerked in a nod before he reminded himself to use his words, responded with a breathless, “Yeah,” as he raised himself up and shook down again around Len. The white-knuckled grip he had on his powers held strong, though he could feel his speed thrumming through him as surely as his own pulse, as if it wanted to pull Len into its flow and run with him, too.

It was unlike how it had ever felt before, exhilarating in a way running had never been, shaped by his intent to do and be all he could that might bring Len pleasure.

 _I want this to be so good for him, I want to show him how much he deserves, how much I want him, wanna find everything that feels good so I can give him that, too, I want_ —

As Barry’s grip tightened across Len’s shoulders, his other hand nearly shook with the effort to keep his touch against Len’s neck a light caress as he brushed another flicker of power there. The thief’s reaction is almost immediate, his hips bucking up and nearly carrying Barry off the bed with the sudden ferocity of his movement. “ _Fuck, Scarlet_ ,” Len gasped, pleading, even as those wonderful long fingers took hold of Barry’s cock again and began working him like he knew exactly how Barry wanted to be touched.

Len’s brows had drawn together, concentration and pleasure mingling to set heavy over the dark hunger of the gaze that held Barry almost as dearly as the possessive brand of his touch. He’s never felt so keenly that someone else _craved_ him, wanted every part of him, and Barry has to pace himself otherwise he’d get lost in the rush to give everything he could.

 _I’d do anything he needed, anything he wanted, I trust him, I think I’m already falling in love with him, I_ —

Barry ground down again as he rode Len, erratic roll of their hips and hands punctuated by the sound of their shared, harsh breathing and inarticulate voicings of mutual need. “Feels so good,” Barry professed, “‘m so close for you, Len, _please_ ,” he moaned, asking for anything, _everything_.

As he had before, he felt how Len’s entire body seemed to press just that much closer as Barry said his name, as he said ‘ _please,_ ’ like the thief’s whole being was trying to shape into an answer.

The tug of fingers through his hair guided Barry’s head toward Len’s lips, ravenous and perfect; it was all he could to do hold onto the thief as he felt the buzz of potential rattle through his atoms again, igniting into the atmosphere between them and earning him another gorgeous stutter of raw need.

Even as he let himself go, he couldn’t do so entirely; didn’t dare tip so far that he couldn’t control the lightning singing through him. The euphoric rush of his speed racing through his pulse felt to surround them, Len’s touch an anchor, the perfect _wholeness_ of them keeping Barry grounded.

_I didn’t know it could be like this_

❄️

That otherworldly spark alight in Barry’s eyes, everything around them moved, then went perfectly still, then seemed to once again fall away. 

Len’s mouth dropped open, but sound didn’t register as all his senses aligned on the speedster in his arms, on feeling Barry’s entire being soar into another climax that Len couldn’t resist following. He was swept into the current of it, blissfully wrecked by the shared intensity, nearly losing himself to it save for the hold Barry had on him. The hold they have on each other. 

It should bother him more that he’s lost count, lost track of time, lost focus on everything else around him in a way that could be dangerous because of Barry.

It doesn’t bother him, because of Barry.

Barry’s quaking tension fluttered away into a slump, clinging to Len as he began to relax. They both still moved in slow counterpoint, sweat-slick skin heaving as they drew in deep breaths. The tickle of soft, damp hair against Len’s neck was at once tantalizing and wonderful, the speedster in his arms shifting slightly to turn his head, and Len felt an open-mouthed kiss against the churning of his pulse where it thrummed through his neck. 

Slowly, Barry leaned back, his hands sliding up from where it felt as if they’d fused against Len’s shoulders to curve far more lightly around the angle of his jaw and cheek. Len blinked through the haze of bliss to see storm-bright hazel regarding him, and he’s certain there’s never been anything more beautiful.

“Hey,” Barry said softly, still breathing a little heavy through a slightly open-mouthed grin that he wore just for Len. 

Len’s motor skills were still recovering, but he’s well-possessed enough of them to skate his touch up from Barry’s hips and groin into a loose circle linked at the small of his back. “Hey there, yourself,” he replied, feeling only a little foolish and utterly smitten.

There’s more, much more, that should be said. That he knows he will have to grit his teeth through saying, because he’s in far too deep to pretend this is anything like what he’s ever done or prepared to do. It can wait; it seems Barry is on the same page, once more, as they regard each other and regain their breath. 

And Barry keeps looking at him like his heart still has great intentions; Len finds he doesn’t mind that, either.

Len unlinked his fingers from the loose hug around his speedster— _mine, I want him to be mine, want him to want to stay mine_ , and that’s something else Len will have to examine more later—tracing a light path up until he could card them through Barry’s sweat-damp hair. Barry immediately hummed, pleased, leaning into the sensation, and went a little more boneless against Len. 

Somewhere between the second or third minute, Len realized his internal sense of timing has resumed, and both of their breathing has evened out. Enough that he knows they should address at least the perfunctory aspects of getting resituated.

As he’s found he rather enjoyed doing, Len gently guides Barry’s head into an angle for him to lean into; his kiss is already growing familiar, exhilaratingly so, and that in itself is a luxury Len has never allowed himself to know. Never wanted to before now. He broke away enough to murmur an instruction for the second time that night, “Up,” with the gentlest pull on Barry’s hair. “Let me get you cleaned up.”

A little groan answered him as Barry began to move, “It is unfair how hot you make that,” he complained without sounding much like he minded, though the following sigh of protest as Len slid out of him was a sentiment the thief shared.

Barry remained close enough to lean down and peck another quick kiss against Len’s mouth, grinning. “How ‘bout I handle cleanup?” 

Len smirked in response, “If you insist.”

Barry answered with another kiss, then the surreal sensation of light touch and not-quite-electricity danced around Len. It was barely enough to quantify but he felt that surreal whisper of _more_ that informed him that Barry was, once again, sharing some of that speed with him.

A cheerfully grinning speedster returned to straddle Len’s lap moments later, and the thief glanced around to notice that most evidence of their exertion has been tidied; even the bedsheets had been changed, and that was almost as impressive as how he now saw that both of their suits had been properly draped over hangers and hung from a hook on the back of the door. The cold gun’s holster hung from the back of the chair, but the weapon itself had found its way to the nightstand; like Barry understood Len wouldn’t ask, but he’d want it near enough to reach.

Len welcomed him back with a smirk he kissed into Barry’s lips, finding that his smile fit quite nicely. “Convenient,” he commented, and it emerged incredibly fond.

“Yeah, well,” Barry muttered between kisses, “maybe I wanna spoil you a little.”

“Mm, I think I’m almost convinced I don’t have to worry about the competition,” Len teased as he glanced at where the bedside drawer was still half-open, the barest hint of icy blue silicone visible in the low light, and Barry broke away in another cheerful laugh.

“I will throw that thing _away_ if it’ll help convince you,” Barry half-pouted, twisting away only to slam shut the bedside drawer that hadn’t completely closed.

“How about I just ice it,” Len suggested, adoring the sensation of his speedster muffling another round of giggles into his neck.

Len had never associated this kind of joy or laughter with sex, with intimacy; now, he doesn’t know if he’d ever want to live without it.

“No, no icing unless it’s on cake,” Barry said sternly. 

Len hummed, indulgent enough to not dissuade that sentiment at the moment. Slowly, their light kissing eased down, until they both slid horizontal and Len realized he hadn’t considered once if he should stay. Had skipped right past it and knew he would.

Yet another of the countless unknowns he accepted adapting to because of Barry.

_I could get used to this, all of it_

As before, it should have terrified him. Now, he was all the more certain that he wanted to revel in it.

**⚡️**

Though the afterglow still hummed through him, their banter picking right back up as if it were just as natural as all the rest of this, little worries began reminding him that yeah, _wow_ sex was great, but _what next_?

His good sense as a host helpfully suggested that a nice start might be offering Len a spare toothbrush and a change of clothes to sleep in, maybe even just a glass of water, not to mention _oh by the way_ would you like to stay?

_Please stay_

Propping himself up on an elbow beside the thief, Barry tried to keep worry from tugging his brows together as he asked, “Would you—” and was gently interrupted by a fingertip tapping on his nose.

Len’s coy smirk was as handsome as it was smug. “I don’t plan on going anywhere or putting clothes on until absolutely necessary.”

Relief flooded through him as Len’s fingertip bumped lower to brush across Barry’s lips as the speedster smiled. “Have I mentioned how much I like you and your plans?”

The thief’s smirk softened as his hand settled at Barry’s nape, drawing him in. “It’s always nice to meet a fan.”

Len kissed the laugh out of Barry’s mouth, and they found a lazy rhythm all over again as they settled against one another under the sheets. It wasn’t exhaustion that finally began to pull Barry toward sleep, but a bone-deep satiation entwined with more joy than he’d felt in a long, long time.

Len’s arm draped across his waist, the thief only made a soft noise of amusement as Barry twisted until he could press his nose against the side of his neck and marveled at how well Len just… _fit_.

Yawning, Barry mumbled out some semblance of a ‘good night’ half-against Len’s skin, and the gentle repetition of the thief’s fingers in his hair soothed him nearly to the edge of sleep. 

“Good night, Barry,” Len bid, and Barry’s last fleeting thought was that, _yeah_ , it really was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy howdy let me tell ya, apartment hunting and then planning a move during the holidays during a pandemic on top of everything else sure is A HELLUVALOT, but I have managed to carve out time to make sure this all gets posted!!
> 
> One chapter left to go, folks; substantially shorter than this 26-page behemoth of a chapter, but still with its own share of feels ♥ Hope you'll enjoy through the end of this ride (Barry & Len certainly did ;) )


	12. Chapter 12

Waking slowly was an unfamiliar thing to Len, his consciousness languishing in the sumptuous relaxed sprawl he’d found in the sheets.

In the feeling of someone—of _Barry_ —beside him.

Len drew in a slow, deep breath, the scent of dull spice and acerbic ozone unified by a note of something impossibly bright and warm; Barry smelled like sunshine and lightning and life and _hope_ , happiness unfiltered through laughter and smiles that were just for him. 

Because Barry _wanted_ to be with him, and the thought still lingered in an uncertain too-good-to-be- _his_ place that Len guarded fiercely.

He could count on one hand the number of times in his adult life he’d slept in a shared bed, most of them when Lisa was still young. He hadn’t ever slept well when beside someone else. 

Until last night.

Len had been prepared to spend his hours dozing, at best; between the physical exertion, crash of all the warring hormones and emotions and everything else in his head that often kept him up long past when his head hit the pillow, and the man against him… Len had fallen asleep soon after he heard Barry’s breathing even out.

The red LED face of a clock informed him it was just past eight in the morning. Not unreasonably early, but he’s surprised he’d slept so well, so _late_ without any interruptions.

_You really are something else, Barry Allen. Think I might want to keep you._

Len shifted just enough to adjust the angle of his shoulder underneath him, flexing the fingers of his hand where it was still draped possessively against Barry’s abdomen. His speedster doesn’t move, still clearly in deep sleep, and Len resettled comfortably as he allowed himself the indulgence of breathing him in again, _feeling_ , lingering in a moment that he never even dreamed he might have. 

Just as surprisingly, Len dozed off as he lingered in wondering about things that usually fell within the purview of dreams, smile pressed gently to Barry’s nape.

**⚡️**

The first thing Barry thought as he woke was that he was so comfortable he wondered if he’s still dreaming. He’d felt like he floated through gentle sentiment and hazy images of things that brought a smile to his lips again. The sensation of body-warm bedsheets and a solid chest fitted along his back only made his smile grow.

Last night had really happened.

Len was still here.

The thief’s arm was slung around Barry’s waist, his hand tucked possessively over his stomach, one thigh gently nestled up between Barry’s in the comfortable loose sprawl of an embrace that was easily one of the nicest things Barry had ever awoken to.

Len must already be awake and able to tell that Barry is, too, because his hand gently pressed a little more firmly against Barry’s abs and breath tickled against the back of his neck just before he felt lips warming a kiss against his skin. Barry hummed, delighted as pleasant chills washed through him at both the sensation and the inherent intimate sentiment of the gesture, and he slid his hand to cover where Len’s was tucked against him.

“Good morning,” he smiled, and felt the brush of Len’s nose against his skin.

“Mmm,” Len rumbled agreement behind him, and Barry arched a little into the sensation. 

“Wondered how long you’d sleep in,” the thief mused, his fingers flexing slightly against Barry’s skin with _just_ enough pressure to keep it from tickling him.

“Don’t get to do that often,” Barry admitted. He’d plugged their phones in during the whirlwind of clean-up (he’d had to go find the right kind of adapter for Len’s from the tangle of wires in his desk drawer, but he had one!!), and he’d set his to DO NOT DISTURB, though a Flash Alert would supersede it if one happened; he was grateful there hadn’t been one yet. Blearily, he opened his eyes to blink at the readout of his clock. “Isn’t even ten yet,” he groused playfully, “haven’t actually slept in until it’s past eleven.”

“Is that so?” Len asked, amusement lilting in his voice as he curled his fingers in another not-quite-tickling brush.

“Them’s the rules,” Barry responded gravely, though it was half-muffled into his pillow.

“Hm,” Len considered, “I think I might want to bend those rules just a little.” Barry felt him move, then was being guided to roll onto his back as Len propped himself up to look down at Barry, his hand sliding up along the speedster’s chest until the gentle press of fingers rested against his sternum. “Unless you need more sleep...”

There was a question in Len’s words, though an intent too. Finally able to see the thief again in the soft light of the morning, Barry took a moment to just _look_ at him. Len was still sleep-loose and beautifully relaxed, slight stubble shadowing his jaw and catching pinpricks of light. If Barry hadn’t been dwelling on every waking moment he’d spent around the other man, he might’ve mistaken the keen edge of his gaze as something sharper. He recognized, though, that Len was looking at him with a degree of guarded fondness, and Barry’s soft smile just widened.

_He’s even more handsome like this, when he’s not even trying to be._

“Why, you got a good reason for me to get up?” Barry asked playfully, reaching to brush his fingers up from the back of Len’s hand to trace a meandering path along his arm.

Amusement warmed into a look that made Barry’s pulse jump as Len’s gaze heated, and he pointedly glanced down Barry’s body. “Seems to me you’re _already_ up,” he rumbled with clear intent, and Barry’s touch on the thief turned possessive.

“Your fault,” Barry grinned, and his taunt was more fond than blame. 

“Then I should do something about it, shouldn’t I?” Len smirked as his hand began an agonizingly-slow descent back down Barry’s torso.

“I mean, it’d be the gentlemanly thing,” Barry agreed, suppressing a slight shiver as Len’s touch continued lower.

Len leaned near enough that Barry could feel the huff of his breath as he chuckled against his skin. “You calling me a gentleman thief, Scarlet?”

“Aren’t you?” Barry retorted, barely able to keep his voice even as Len’s fingertips danced featherlight over his length, just enough to tease.

Len hummed, “For you, maybe.” The response was soft, lilting with something heavier than lighthearted banter. Something promising and incredible that Barry had to answer by capturing him in a kiss, and for a while after that, they didn’t need any words at all.  
  


By the time either of them made it out of bed, it was nearly noon. They’d fallen back together in the sheets to regain their breath, finding easy conversation again until the growl of a hungry speedster’s stomach finally interrupted. Barry only showed off a little as he tidied things after their _very_ good morning, unable to stop stealing glances at where Len remained perfectly content to lounge in Barry’s bed until the speedster mentioned taking a shower.

By the time they finished their shower and finally dressed (Len in borrowed jeans that hugged him dangerously well and a faded Jurassic Park t-shirt that looked better on him than it ever had on Barry), it was nearing one in the afternoon. After finishing their simple breakfast, Len had finally leaned back and mentioned that he had a few things to take care of before he needed to head back to the Waverider.

Barry had been expecting it, but he couldn’t help how his expression fell. Neither had been eager to hurry out of the apartment, though, and Len was delighted to further put the speedster’s refractory period to the test.

By the time they actually _left_ Barry’s apartment, it was nearer to two. Barry ran Len (and his gorgeously expensive suit) back to one of the thief’s safehouses. “What I need to handle won’t be quite so efficiently-done if I’ve got a handsome speedster distracting me,” Len had purred, nipping at Barry’s neck in a way that was doing anything but encouraging him to leave the thief.

Still, leave him he had to; they’d shared more kisses than Barry could count by then, but he’d lingered in one more before Len had murmured, “I’ll stop by S.T.A.R. Labs before I go. Now, shoo; the sooner you go the sooner I’ll see you again.”

He’d flicked his fingers out in an artful gesture that brushed past Barry’s shoulder, lingering against his chest, then had given Barry the gentlest nudge. Barry had caught his fingers and watched the way Len’s composure gave nothing away, but his pupils still dilated as the speedster brushed a kiss against his knuckles. 

So Barry went, but as he stepped into his speed, he stole one last kiss from the thief before running off to the Labs.

To say the rest of Team Flash was excited about how the mission had gone was… just a bit of an understatement.

There hadn’t been any urgent messages, Barry hadn’t really needed to send a heads-up to let anyone know to expect him. When he arrived in the S.T.A.R. Labs cortex, however, he dropped out of his speed just past the threshold to _stare_.

The place was draped in bright banners and streamers, balloons arranged haphazardly around the room (including a few Flash designs floating near the ceiling and his suit’s display case), and a huge rainbow of letters proclaimed **_CONGRATULATIONS!!_** where it hung across the wall. 

Cisco spun around in his chair and blew into a little kazoo that unfurled its paper in a cheerful honking noise, ridiculous crown made of party hats sitting jauntily on his head.

Barry just gaped at the mess in confusion.

Caitlin’s head poked around the corner of her chosen work alcove, immediately offering an apologetic wince. “This was entirely his idea,” she explained with a look toward Cisco, who still sat in his chair with a shit-eating grin around the little kazoo still clenched in his teeth.

“What…” Barry started to ask, but didn’t bother finishing the question; he had a pretty good idea what this was about, but he just aimed his expectant confusion at the engineer.

“Barry, my dude, my _guy_ ,” Cisco spread his arms wide, “it is about _time_ , my man!”

“About time,” Barry echoed drily, crossing his arms.

Cisco had years of friendship to insulate him against the withering look he was getting from the speedster, so he just grinned on imperviously. “Don’t even front, man, you have been pining after Snart for _months_.”

Barry’s mouth opened for some form of retort, but he closed it after a moment, tilting his head and squinting at his friend. He and Len had briefly discussed earlier that there was no way they were keeping things from the Team (Barry was just _not_ a good enough liar, nevermind that he didn’t want to), but he’d hoped he could at least break the news on his own terms. “How do you even know anything happened?”

As if he’d been waiting for the question, Cisco twisted just enough in his chair to grab and brandish the little note Barry had left the night prior, making a production of holding it up and clearing his throat to read aloud. “ _Mission Accomplished! Call_ **_US_** ,” Cisco paused, emphasizing ‘ _us_ ’ with both intonation and his raised brows as he looked at Barry, “ _only if it’s an emergency. See you tomorrow afternoon,_ smiley face.”

Flattening his mouth into a dubious expression, Barry shrugged as he shook his head. “What, because I said ‘us’ it automatically means we were together?”

“I mean, that and I tracked your phones,” Cisco added casually. “So, unless you stole Snart’s cell last night…” Cisco waggled his eyebrows.

“You— _Cisco_! I know we’ve got that for all of the Team enabled, but that’s an invasion of Len’s privacy! Did he even agree to that?”

“Well, no, but _excuse me_ for wanting to make sure I kept tabs on freakin’ Captain Cold considering not only his history but also because someone who _isn’t_ you actually _asked_ me to!” Cisco retorted, clearly feeling no remorse for his morally-murky use of tech to track the thief.

That did give Barry pause, though; someone else had asked Cisco to track Len, and Barry had a pretty good idea who; Lisa. Haltingly, Barry’s righteous indignation mellowed, though he wasn’t done. “Even if she’s his sister, that doesn’t make it okay. If you don’t talk to him about it, I will. At the very least you should apologize.”

Cisco pulled in a breath, nodding as he conceded the point. “Yeah, okay,” he pointed a finger at Barry, “but you’re on standby when I do to make sure he doesn’t retaliate if Lisa isn’t around.”

Barry rolled his eyes, the last of his consternation melting into bemusement, then something slightly more melancholy as he remembered that Len was going back aboard the Waverider later today. “As long as you do it today, yeah.”

His friend clearly noticed the change in attitude, confused worry overtaking the smug satisfaction, but it was Caitlin whose soft voice asked, “So.. _did_ everything go okay?”

He appreciated that the question was vague enough that she could be referring to the mission, to things with Len, to his morning; any or all of it, but still left it up to him just how much of that he wanted to answer. 

Barry shifted his attention to her with a small, but grateful, smile. “Yeah, it did. A few unexpected turns, but… yeah. Pretty great.” He knew he couldn’t keep the fondness from creeping in to warm his response, and it seemed more than enough for Caitlin to fill in the rest.

“So where is Cold, anyhow?” Cisco asked, tilting back and forth in the chair.

Barry shot him a look over his shoulder, asking drily, “Can’t you just check the location on his phone?”

Cisco held his hands up, “Hey, no, just figured, y’know…” His brows rose in questioning curiosity, “... thought he’d at least wanna do the debrief or something? With the team, I mean.” Cisco trailed off, clearly unsure how to get at what he was obviously trying to skirt around.

“He had some things to take care of before he goes back to the Waverider later,” Barry answered, then paused; he wasn’t sure how to best present the uncertain roiling he was feeling about the thief at the moment. Wasn’t sure if he should even say aloud that he was hoping that Len would do as he said to stop by before he left, even though part of him was expecting that he wouldn’t.

 _I trust him. If he said he’ll be here, he’ll be here,_ Barry reassured himself, even though part of him admitted he could understand if the thief elected to leave with the Legends. Then, unhelpfully, Barry’s mind supplied again that it was plenty possible that Len might go with them, off for another handful of missions, and just return later after having given himself time and space to process things. Or—

_Thinking about all of this isn’t helping, Barry!_

Iris, blessedly, arrived then with a few file folders in her hands as she finished up a phone call. “—no, that’s great, we’ll be by tomorrow at eleven. Thanks!” 

Her attention immediately settled on Barry (she seemed indifferent to the decorations, which meant she’d at least already noticed it, which—as far as Barry was concerned—meant she was in on it too. Great.). 

“Barr! Hey,” she pulled him into a hug before he had the chance to get a word in, then he yelped as she punched him in the arm. “You are telling me _everything_ later, mister.”

Any attempt on his part to raise a protest got caught and withered in the powerful, expectant look of a woman he knew better than to argue with. So he nodded, “Yeah, but first, did I miss anything?”

She held up the folders in her hand triumphantly, offering them for Barry to peruse. “Actually, yes! Turns out, with a little help from Eddie and one of the beat cops who usually works near Mercury Labs, we figured out who stole the tech in the first place!”

Barry’s brows rose, impressed, as he opened the file to flip through and immediately felt a strange sense of recognition at the two mug shots looking back at him. He recognized these guys, but he couldn’t quite… “Oh my god,” he breathed as his skimming landed on the prior history; they had both been among the suspects linked back to a very familiar attempted robbery of a security truck some years ago.

Though Leonard Snart’s name wasn’t among the list of known associates (it wouldn’t be, Barry had been _thorough_ when he erased all records of him), Barry connected the dots.

“Do you recognize them?” Iris asked, watching Barry curiously.

“I think these guys were part of Len’s crew when he tried to hijack the armored truck,” Barry said slowly, still looking over the files though his focus was split between the information on the pages and his memory. “With the Kahndaq diamond,” he added a little absently.

The first time he’d met Len.

Cisco piped up, “Wait, so doesn’t that mean that the stuff getting stolen from Mercury Labs was technically Snart’s fault? Like… even if he didn’t orchestrate it, they’re still his guys, right? So… like, if that’s the case, those dudes stole from Mercury Labs were kinda working for him, weren’t they?”

Barry shot him a confused blink.

Caitlin spoke up as she gestured to look at the files, flipping through them as she thought aloud. “Snart does still hold a lot of influence, even with the… temporary absence. Considering how the criminal power structure shifted over the past few years since the accelerator explosion, there’s been a radical upheaval because of metahumans. People who might’ve previously been someone’s lackey now run the show, and as far as Frost and I know, Snart was one of the only ones who found a way to keep that balanced without it turning into an all-out gang war. A lot of people wanted to be part of his Rogues because they were essentially protected elite by association.”

That… huh, that _really_ made sense, and though Caitlin wasn’t usually eager to volunteer Frost’s criminal experience, she certainly would know.

“I mean, I guess between what he actually did and the rumors Lisa was spreading, it pretty much cemented him as a sort of metahuman-friendly kingpin,” Barry thought aloud, though the idea was both reassuring and a little troubling. “Even with that, though, I don’t think it’s fair to put the blame on him for this.”

“Ehh, think about it, man,” Cisco explained, listing things off on his fingers, “these guys were part of his old crew, Snart goes all Captain Cold, runs off with the Legends, where does that leave them? Probably used their association with him to cover their asses, and I doubt he said NO stealing while he was away. I mean, probably more like,” Cisco screwed his expression into a sneer, impersonating Cold’s drawl (terribly), “ _Keep up the criminal crimes, but no killing or you’re on thin ice._ ”

“Wow,” Barry said flatly, but… he had to admit there was still some degree of truth and logic to what they were saying. More than Barry would have even thought about before having seen the way the rest of Central City’s criminal underworld behaved around Len last night, and with everything that had happened with Alexa. Still...

Barry was about to offer up his retort when a drawl broke in to do it for him (and nearly startled Cisco out of his chair, though his little party kazoo did go toppling to the floor).

“First of all, that’s a _terrible_ impersonation, Ramon. I don’t know if I should be flattered, insulted, or insist you practice more. Second, I had a lovely chat with those two over coffee and they’ve decided to look into a new line of work. Minimal threats were exchanged, beyond the pleasantries. I was perfectly civil.”

Len leaned against the cortex door jamb, changed out of the borrowed clothes Barry had lent him and back into the dark jeans and sleek waxed denim jacket he’d been wearing when he sauntered off the Waverider a few days ago.

Barry openly admired him for a long moment—something he nearly caught himself to stop, but felt a wonderful thrill at realizing he _could_ openly admire him now, that he didn’t need to hide that he was looking and _appreciating_ the man.

Len caught him looking and an almost-imperceptible softness eased the curl of his smirk as he gave Barry a similar head-to-toe appraisal.

Barry wanted to run over to him, grab him by the lapels and remind himself how the thief tasted, wanted—

The speedster’s feet were moving him toward Len before he really thought consciously about it, drawn toward him like a magnet, and Len’s relaxed posture in the doorway only shifted slightly— _toward_ Barry—in an unspoken invitation. Once he was near enough, Barry just reached toward Len to settle a hand on his chest, thumb brushing along the line of his jacket where it met his shirt underneath.

“Hey,” Barry said softly, smiling at Len as the rest of the room faded away for a moment and it was just about him. About _them_.

“Careful, Scarlet, I might get the impression you missed me,” Len murmured, humor lilting through his teasing drawl as he brushed a brief touch against the center of Barry’s chest.

“Well I’d hate to give you the wrong impression,” Barry shrugged. He wanted to say more, recapture the thief in the way he’d found that earned him another beautiful, breathless gasp as it had the night before (and that morning).

“Man, I do not have enough brain bleach if you two are about to start doing what it looks like you’re gonna do,” Cisco muttered. Barry didn’t see but heard the soft sound of what he suspected was Caitlin swatting him before she hissed, “Hush, everyone’s allowed their honeymoon phase!”

Though he heard it, Barry’s focus was entirely on the way Len’s smirk seemed to dare him to do something. They hadn’t gotten a chance to discuss exactly how far, how much of _this_ Len was comfortable showing around everyone else (Barry had no problem shouting it from the rooftops, but he didn’t mind aligning to Len’s comfort level); with the way Len’s gaze dropped to Barry’s mouth, though...

Harry rounded the corner and didn’t even break his stride as he passed them into the cortex. The man was clearly on a _mission_ , long steps carrying him between a few of the desks as he rifled through one of the more haphazard stacks of notes and instruments until he came away with a jumble of wires connected to a pair of metallic ledes.

“Ramon! If you’re done being a pissant, I need an extra pair of hands and someone who knows how to read an oscilloscope. Since we’ve learned what happens when the Labs rely on trained primates for that purpose, that means I’m stuck with you. Let’s go!”

Harry turned back toward the way he came, only then glancing at Barry and Len where the two of them hadn’t moved away from their corner of the wide doorframe, and he gestured at them with his handful of wires and ledes as if he were ordaining law. “Speedy, Snarky. Congrats, but no bodily fluids in, on, or otherwise around the equipment, I don’t care if you own the place.”

And then Harry disappeared back down the hall toward his lab, leaving Barry blinking in his wake, and the huff of soft laughter drew the speedster’s attention back to Len.

The way the thief was smirking informed Barry that he’d taken Harry’s words as less of a warning and more of a challenge. Thing of it was, Barry might’ve objected, but he felt an immediate thrill at the idea, and… well, Len was still looking at him like he was daring Barry to see how far he wanted to make a show of things just to see how the rest of the Team would react.

“Yeah, yep, gross, did NOT need that image. Congrats and all with the whole probletunity situation, but ditto what he said,'' Cisco commented with a disgusted shake of his head as he pushed up off his chair and went to follow after Harry, though he twisted as he walked to aim dual fingerguns at the two still in the doorway. “Cool tech stuff happening, by the by, which might mean some nice upgrades to the suit if Harry would stop—”

“ANY DAY, CISCO!” Harry’s voice bellowed from down the hall, and Cisco huffed an exasperated sigh as he disappeared down the hallway, hollering back, “STOP YELLING LIKE A PETULANT TEENAGER, HARRY!”

Len’s brows only raised slightly as his head tilted to follow the movement.

Barry shook his head fondly, “Those two really—”

A cacophonous clatter and crashing noise followed by the raised voices of both Cisco and Harry yelling, “ _WE’RE FINE_ ” was followed by more bickering. 

Caitlin, then, ventured out of her little lab alcove with a slight wince, “I’m just… gonna go check on that.”

The rapid gait of her heels disappeared down the hall toward the other lab.

From behind him, Iris cleared her throat, “ _Well_ , I’m gonna head out to meet Eddie at the florist soon,” she began, approaching until she could settle a hand on Barry’s shoulder. “And we’ve got a cake tasting tomorrow I was gonna ask you to join, if you’re not too busy,” she glanced toward Len, then back to Barry. “I’ll text you the details and just let me know, okay?”

“Yeah,” Barry nodded, grateful for the open-ended invitation, but suddenly aware that he probably wouldn’t have any reason _not_ to go. 

Since Len was leaving on the Waverider soon.

Iris smiled supportively at Barry, then leveled a look at Len that Barry felt a little bit of fear-by-proximity from. Her other hand fell on Len’s shoulder. “If you hurt him, I’ll end you,” she smile-threatened sweetly.

“I’d expect nothing less, Miss West,” Len said, and while there was a degree of his drawling lilt, there was a genuine honesty to it that made Barry’s breath nearly catch in his lungs.

“Good! Have fun, you both owe me coffee soon,” she grinned cheerfully, patting their shoulders, then left them alone in the cortex.

Barry’s head fell forward until he could rest his forehead on Len’s shoulder, muffling a soft groan. “Have I mentioned how awesome but also scary it is that you two already have a coffee rapport?”

The warm rumble of Len’s laugh against him was given further punctuation as the thief’s wonderful hands smoothed down Barry’s shoulders until they settled on his waist. “You might have touched on it over breakfast, yes.”

Barry smiled at the mention of their shared morning (and everything else), his own hands pressed on either side of Len’s chest and just slightly curling a loose grip on the waxed denim of his jacket. Barry took in a deep breath as he straightened back up but lingered as he concentrated on Len’s scent, the feeling of him, just _having this_.

He wasn’t sure when he’d get to do so again, after all.

The thief was watching him with that rare, soft warmth when Barry righted himself, and those wonderful fingers brushed a touch along the speedster’s jaw, fleeting and fond.

Leaning slightly into the touch, Barry began, “Len, I—” just as Len said, “Barry—” and they both lost their words in a moment of soft amusement.

“Go ahead,” Len prompted, his thumb brushing slowly over the shape of Barry’s jaw, hand tucked along his cheek in a way that Barry couldn’t help but think of as comfortingly possessive. 

There was a litany of things running through Barry’s mind, but none of them made it out before he asked, “You really went and had coffee with those guys, huh?”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“No, just… weird? I mean, when did you figure out they were the ones who stole the tech?”

Len hummed, his smirk ticking up slightly. “I had an educated guess before I got off the Waverider. I confirmed it last night while I worked through the crowd. We had some… unfinished business that needed to be settled anyway, and it made sense to handle it all at once.”

Barry could tell there was more to it than that, but didn’t want to push. Instead, he snorted a bemused laugh, tilting his head. “So… Cisco’s right? In a six-degrees-of-Kevin-Bacon sorta way, _was_ this your fault?” He asked with clear amusement, and he delighted in the way Len lit up at the playful accusation.

“You going to do something about it if it is, _Flash_?” Len taunted, lip curling as he squinted into exaggerating the tease, thumb skating an accentuating gesture across his chin.

“Might have to,” Barry answered with a slow coil of authority as he curled his grip on Len’s jacket a little tighter. “Even if we don’t have much time, I can be creative.”

Though he meant it, saying as much aloud just sent another bittersweet jolt through him that Len was here because he’d said he would come see Barry before he left. Because he was leaving.

Len’s gaze dropped, first to Barry’s mouth, then slid away to somewhere over his shoulder as the thief’s hands covered Barry’s. The speedster’s grip eased somewhat; Len’s expression hadn’t shuttered, exactly, but that playful taunting persona had evaporated and there was a guarded vulnerability to the thief that made Barry feel suddenly concerned and alert.

“About that,” Len began, and Barry didn’t know how to describe the sudden clench and swoop in his gut.

“If… if you need to head back to the Waverider now, I’ll run you there? I mean, whenever you want. If. if you want,” Barry tried to offer without tripping over his own tongue, earnest but clearly not eager to be rid of the man he was still trying to memorize the shape of against him.

He could feel the way Len’s chest expanded with the breath he took in.

Barry braced himself as best he could. The undercurrent of worried catastrophizing he’d been doing his best to keep at bay all day threatened to overwhelm him.

“Change of plans,” Len said, and Barry’s heart lodged somewhere in the back of his throat. The thief continued, “Paid a visit to the Waverider earlier. Let the Captain and crew know it seems like Central might need me to stick around a little longer. No shortage of catching up to do and I suppose there might be other things to keep me busy.”

Len’s cool blue-gray gaze finally returned to regard him, and it felt like a physical weight gently testing how much Barry was willing to endure. How much he was willing to extend.

“You’re staying?” Barry asked softly, needing to hear it again.

The thief tilted his head slightly, rolling his shoulders in a slight shrug, “Like I told you once before. Central City is my home.”

Something else was nestled there too, though; it wasn’t that Len _needed_ Barry’s approval, but maybe part of him wanted it. Barry wasn’t so self-centered as to think Len was doing this entirely due to his influence, but hoped, maybe, he was an encouraging part of it.

Barry’s fragile neutrality blossomed into a wide smile. “Yeah,” he agreed, “Does that mean I get to be the first to give you a proper ‘welcome home?’”

Len hummed again, a note of consideration as he regarded the speedster, “That depends, what did you have in mind?”

“So much,” Barry answered him, an echo of their conversation the night prior but now carrying intent promise, “but I’d really like to start by kissing you again.”

“Then kiss me, Barry, “ Len said softly, an echo of his own answer from the night before, and Barry was happy to oblige.

As was becoming a wonderful new habit, they both lost themselves in the indulgent slide of lips and tongues, the nip of teeth and encouraging grasp of hands that remained just-this-side of proprietous. Barry’s pulse thundered with the joy of potential, anchored against Len as he reveled in feeling him; he was _staying_.

Another clatter from the lab down the hall took enough of their attention that Barry groaned as Len’s lips left his, both of them kiss-winded. The wash of Len’s breath as he laughed sent a shiver through Barry. 

“Sounds like your Team may need some help,” Len observed. 

“You offering?” Barry’s question emerged only _slightly_ exasperated, mostly hopeful.

“I’ll think about it,” Len drawled, affecting disinterest though his eyes glittered with clear amusement. 

“What if I asked nicely? I can be very convincing.” Barry pressed a little closer, backing Len up until he was flush to the door jamb and held captive between the speedster’s chest and rigid structure. 

A thrill of excitement and _want_ and supreme fondness ran through Barry at the way Len’s mouth dropped open ever-so-slightly before his smirk renewed, the thief’s fingers sliding into a possessive hold in his hair and on his hip. 

“You can certainly try,” Len challenged him, the blunt edge of his nails dragging punctuation that elicited a minute shiver of vibration from the speedster.

And, well.

Barry _had_ to try.

So, with delight, he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this far - I hope you've enjoyed it ♥  
> (and especially to folks reading as I've been posting, thanks for your patience as the end of 2020 threw me a full Crap Bingo that included moving during the holidays during a pandemic on ridiculously short notice; happy to say it went pretty damn well, all things considered!! Phew.)
> 
> Boundless thanks to this fandom, especially to the ColdFlash Discord server, and lots of love to each of you who've taken the time to leave comments & kudos. 
> 
> And, more than I can say, thanks and adoration to T; you inspire me to keep finding more ways to create & express, and it all started with these two.
> 
> ❄️⚡️
> 
> I'm also [hautecoldture](https://hautecoldture.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.


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